Frigga's Major Headache
by Imarra Pendaran
Summary: Wrangling three growing boys is a challenge. Wrangling three Asgardian godlings leads to a massive headache. Curious adventures await young Thor, Loki, and Balder as they explore their growing independence.
1. Chapter 1

Frigga's Major Headache: Or The Day The Boys Drove Her Nuts

Chapter 1

Not a single soul had heard Frigga, apparently unable to conceive children of her own, complain when Odin had brought home the golden-haired boy he'd sired from Gaea, the earth goddess. "Thor," he'd proudly proclaimed with a look of abject pride accompanied by a timeless male chest-thump meant to impress upon others the primal dominance brought on by fatherhood. His demeanor had been more sentimental when he'd returned home from Jotunheim carrying a tiny bundle of cloth in which was nestled a dark-haired baby. "Loki," he'd whispered in that tone reserved for profound moments, periods in their married life when he thought they should feel overwhelmingly blessed. Then a miracle had happened: After centuries of being unable to conceive and nearing the end of Odin's period of fertility, Frigga had given birth to a third boy. "Balder," Odin had proclaimed while raising the boy to the sky, dappled golden light filtering through a canopy of leaves on their garden balcony to catch on a single tear on his cheek.

_Her_ boys; the trio of princes held equal places of love and adoration in her heart regardless of who had given birth to them. The eldest was ever dominant, much like his father, and quite happy to lead his younger siblings into mischief. The middle boy, son of a fallen enemy and no less cherished in her heart than his brothers, was usually the mastermind of whatever mischief Thor was leading them into, a devious little smile in place whenever he caught her glance, and heaven help her, but she so willingly spent countless hours showing him everything she knew about the strains of magic. The youngest boy was so remarkably beautiful it almost hurt to look upon his perfect face; quiet, brave enough to toddle after Thor and Loki even when he knew they were making trouble, and the most studious out of her sons. His tutors lavished him with praise, constantly using him as an example in their attempts to motivate the hyper Thor and the stubborn Loki.

A fist pressed against her bosom as though attempting to contain all the joy of motherhood currently overwhelming her, Frigga than swiped her fingers across the small image monitor clutched in her hand. A fresh picture was displayed, lips quirking in a smile: Thor had been caught in the act of wailing and pummeling his little fists against a bench while Loki conjured miniature soldiers on horseback in an attempt to distract his older brother from his tantrum. Their father stood in the background cradling Balder, who had been in swaddling clothes at the time, Odin's expression one of abject pride in the sons gathered around him. She had the most remarkable and beautiful family ever imagined even if wrangling them had caused silver threads to streak the burnished copper of her feminine pride and joy.

"Mother, Thor won't stop poking me!" Loki shouted indignantly when the larger blonde boy chased him onto the balcony.

"I'm not poking you, Brother; Musilnir is!" exclaimed Thor, and just as soon as he thought she was paying more attention to Loki, he jabbed his little brother in the side again with the blunted tip of his wooden sword, so carefully named with all the pride a growing lad took in receiving his first training weapon. Naturally, she'd known putting a weapon in his hand was asking for trouble, but no one had listened to her.

"Thor, would you please ask Musilnir to stop poking Loki?" A smile on her face, Frigga opened her arms to the smaller boy, delighted when he bounded across the distance separating them to fling himself into her embrace.

"Loki," cried Thor in that whining tone of voice that said he was disappointed and betrayed at being abandoned in favor of their mother's comfort. "We haven't defeated the nefarious and evil frost giants yet!"

"Excellent word usage, Son, but frost giants are not inherently nefarious nor evil simply because they are frost giants," she patiently instructed. A tiny seed buried in the depths of her soul was terrified of the moment when Loki would find out about his real parentage: She did not want him believing he was nefarious and evil simply because he'd grown up listening to Thor repeat common misconceptions bandied about regarding their enemies.

"Why aren't the frost giants evil, Mother? Father doesn't have both eyes anymore because their king wouldn't agree to a ceasefire," Loki commented, his dark, soulful eyes staring up at her with such love and trust it nearly rendered her a puddle on the bench.

Her arms closed around the boy, lifting him easily to perch on her lap, at which point, she tucked a tendril of black hair behind his ear. "You must understand, my sons, that no one is bound to the footsteps their parents left behind. We are all free to make our own destinies. Laufey decided to use his strength to the detriment of Midgard because he craved power and destruction. Laufey's children aren't shackled by their blood relationship to repeat his mistakes."

"When _I'm _king," Thor began with all the righteous self-confidence of a nine year old, "Musilnir will smite Laufey's children until he has no legacy left, and I will present their heads to Father in vengeance for the eye he sacrificed." His bold statement concluded with several swings of his wooden sword, kinetic energy cutting through the air in soft whooshing sounds.

Fingers pinched the bridge of her nose momentarily before she commented, "There is no glory in making war on people who have done you no hurt, Thor. If Laufey has children, we mustn't assume they stand with their father's choices." Was there any nine year old in the nine realms who listened to their mother's patient tutelage when glory and honor on the battlefield seemed so much worthier a cause?

"No, when I'm king, I will barter a lasting ceasefire with Jotunheim just the way Father and Mother have taught us." Loki's glance lifted in search of praise for having chosen words he anticipated would please her.

A hand cupped her middle son's head and pressed him deeper into her bosom for a moment of affection. There was never a time when Loki was willfully disobedient, the seven year old always weighing his words carefully to gain the desired reaction. Frigga counted down in her head-_Three…Two…One…_

"You're a baby!" Thor wailed. "Real men gain renown with the point of their sword instead of their slick, silver tongues. Mama, tell Loki to stop being a baby!"

As predicted, Thor immediately sought to regain her attention in the fastest way he thought would receive the desired result; picking on his brother in this case. And Frigga, always trying to stay one foot in front of her children, responded by ignoring his outburst in an attempt to guide him to a more reasonable method of seeking attention. She smoothed Loki's hair, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and finally lifted her glance to her eldest when Thor huffed in a manner that said he'd moved on to stubbornly holding his breath, which he anticipated would result in her worrying about his health.

"You're stupid, Thor," Loki chimed in after a reasonable amount of time had passed, time in which he must have figured he'd achieved the victory. "If you'd just ask Mother for a hug, she'd hug you, but you'd rather act like a bilgestipe."

"Don't call your brother stupid, Loki," she immediately scolded.

Her eldest sucked in another hard breath, cheeks puffing out and lips pursing in a decided pout while fists settled against his hips. Eyes bluer than the most startlingly vibrant sky clouded with frustration, jaw locking and angling as he canted his head to the left in an expression so purely stubborn there was no questioning where he'd learned the behavior; from his mother.

Seeing an opportunity, Loki slid from her lap, trotted over to Thor, and poked his brother's distended cheeks, causing an out-rush of air accompanied by a rat-a-tat of burring lips. "Mother, will you give Thor a hug?"

"No, because then I would be rewarding you with attention. If Thor wants to gain a moment of my attention, he can do so properly."

Finally, the stubbornness of her eldest melted away until he was gazing at her with wobbly eyes and a shuddering bottom lip. "Mama, can I have a hug?"

"Of course, my sweet." Frigga opened her arms to the boy, who flung himself with such enthusiasm, she was very nearly knocked off the back of the bench. Her laughter was lilting as she closed her arms around him. "My brave Thor. One day, you'll be one of the most powerful men in the nine realms, and it's important you learn to dispense power and justice with grace, nobility, and compassion."

"That's _boring_," he whined, emphasizing and extending the vowel to show his displeasure at receiving further lectures. Rather, the boy snuggled in closer, cheek pressing up against and nuzzling her bosom until he'd wormed himself into the crook of her arm.

Obviously, her eldest had reached the end of his tether. Thor's attention span had been used up. Attempts at further instruction would be pointless, as anything she had to say would merely enter one ear and immediately exit the other. She'd learned quickly the capacity each of her sons possessed for listening attentively, Thor's being the shortest when he would rather spend his time chasing imaginary monsters and saving his young playmates from pretend villains bent on destruction and domination.

Hurried footsteps could be heard on marble flooring before Iound, Frigga's personal maid and a dear companion, appeared through the archway leading into the royal family's private sitting room. The woman's breath was ragged, attesting to the long dash required to reach Frigga's side and assuring the queen of Asgard of the urgency of Iound's mission. An arm curled tightly around Thor before she lurched to her feet. The sudden staccato of her heart was proof of her immediate fear that Odin's delayed return from Svartalfheim had deadlier origins than had been reported.

"Your Majesty, young Balder somehow managed to awaken Durindel and is in danger!" Iound shouted, the woman's fear palpable.

Only long centuries of poise prevented her from immediately descending into a state of panic just as soon as her brain registered that "Balder" and "danger" had been used in the same sentence. "Slow down, Iound. Take a breath and tell me clearly and concisely what has happened. Where's Balder? Iound, where is my son?"

Iound's hand fluttered and settled on her stomach, a deep, shuddering breath working out of her lungs while she sought calm enough to relay the necessary information. Finally, she said with a much greater degree of control, "Balder wandered from his classmates while their tutor lectured on objects in the treasure vault. The young prince discovered Durindel and somehow managed to scramble onto the statue's back, waking Durindel from his long sleep. The beast immediately panicked at his surroundings and took flight from the treasure vault with Balder still aboard. They were last spotted launching from a balcony and taking to the skies."

"My son is clinging to the Pegasus' back while it romps through the skies over Asgard?" A hand flew to her mouth to muffle a terrified gasp.

Imagined events played out in her mind's eye. The ever-curious Balder, enraptured by the large statue of a winged horse, wandering from his classmates while the tutor's attention was diverted in showing the curious students all the wonders housed in the treasure vault-home to relics far less dangerous than those permanently housed in the weapons vault-only for Balder to clamor aboard in some pretend game. Durindel, who had been a gift to the royal household from the light elves of Alfheim, had no doubt woken in a panic at being in strange surroundings just as soon as Balder settled himself, and the beast had no doubt spooked before anyone could calm him. A desperate sound ravaged her throat when she pictured her son clutching frantically to Durindel's black mane while the beast soared hundreds of feet in the air.

"Mama?" Thor cut in, clear worry in his tone at seeing his mother in such a state.

"Stay with them," she instructed whilst uncurling Loki's fingers from the material of her dress. "Keep them safe, and if my husband returns from Svartalfheim before Balder is safe, tell him what's happened."

"Mama, we can help," insisted Thor, little hand clutching the handle of his wooden blade.

"Stay with Iound," she instructed in a stern tone that should have transmitted how much she needed Thor and Loki to behave while her attention was diverted to Balder.

"Mama," he began again only for Iound to crouch between the boys and wrap an arm around each little waist.

Frigga spun on her heel, dashing from the balcony in a surreal state somewhere between full-fledged terror and precision calm that would allow her to continue functioning despite the danger her youngest was in. People of Asgard were hardy folk. Most adults were likely to survive a fall of several hundred feet even if weeks would be required to recover, but Balder was a child, a small and helpless child who could so easily be flung from Durindel. He could fall wrong and snap his neck. He could land on something pointed and impale himself through the heart. For as hardy as they were compared to the folk of Midgard, they could still be killed, and a child was far more vulnerable to death than any adult.

* * *

A terrible wail escaped Balder. This had all started out as great fun, an adventure the likes of which only the oh-so-grown-up Thor could conjure, but he was ready to get down now. He buried his tear-streaked face in the beast's mane when they banked sharply to wheel around a large, floating tower and sweep down alongside one of the many waterfalls. Water plunged more than a hundred feet to the vast ocean beneath the city, and all he could do was cling as tightly as possible to his fistfuls of hair.

If he were as big as his big brother, he would have been strong enough to make the flying horse skim the Rainbow Bridge, and then surely he would have been brave enough to jump off. Thor could have done it. Thor could have landed safely mere feet from where Heimdall could scoop him up to be lavished with attention. Were he as smart as Loki, he would have conjured a spell allowing him to speak Horseian and asked the horse nicely to land on the Rainbow Bridge where Heimdall would have hailed him the smartest person in the whole of Asgard. But Balder was neither big nor intelligent enough to speak horse, so all he could do was wail for his mother.

"Mama!" he cried desperately as they streaked past the Rainbow Bridge again where he caught sight of a crowd gathering below. One hand released the fistful of mane it was clutching to reach toward the people as though he could catch them even from so high up, but the little prince lost his balance and nearly went plummeting over the side when the horse whipped around to streak toward the bifrost and the very edge of Asgard.

Nothing had ever frightened him so much as peering into the deep blackness and being so terribly certain the horse wouldn't stop. Surely they would fly out into the midst of space never to be seen or heard from again, but his mount kicked its heels and whipped around again to speed back toward the bifrost, wind biting sharply into his cheeks when the horse put on even more speed to dive back toward the water. A terrified sob escaped, but he forced himself to keep his eyes open while they streaked below the Rainbow Bridge to come up on the other side.

Being a very small boy, Heimdall had always struck him as being stupendously tall, so when Balder caught sight of the man in golden armor, he thought for a moment how small Heimdall really looked from so far up. All the people gathering beneath him looked like ants, tiny ants who couldn't possibly help him when they didn't have wings themselves. That was when he made out the figure of his mother racing down the bridge with a coil of silver rope in her hands, pretty lights flickering brighter wherever her feet stepped.

"Mama, help!" he shrieked, once again reaching desperately toward the bridge as though someone could snatch hold of his hand and pull him to safety.

* * *

Frigga was on the verge of vomiting. As bad as she had envisioned the situation while racing through the palace, seeing it up close and in person was worse. Her tiny son stretched out his fingers in abject and heartrending supplication, and that one moment nearly cost him his life. Breath gasped into her lungs, lodging there for long moments, when releasing Durindel's mane disrupted his balance. He was poised so precariously she swore he would fall. The only things preventing him from plummeting to the ocean's surface were a fistful of mane and his little heel hooking over the mount's backbone. She _was _going to throw up, and when Odin returned from Svartalfheim, she was going to scream at him for not putting that cursed statue somewhere safer than the treasure vault.

Heimdall, her husband's most loyal subject, met her halfway, clear concern etching the seamless lines of a face that hadn't aged in half a millennium. There was simply no possibility she would trust her son's rescue to anyone but her own hands no matter how highly she thought of the gatekeeper. Uncoiling the rope-it had been specifically enchanted by the light elves for the sole purpose of capturing Durindel-Frigga poised at the edge of the Rainbow Bridge. One chance, that was all she was going to get. If Durindel suspected he was in danger of being wrangled back to the ground, he would bolt, and it would likely take Odin years to find him again. Her son was depending on her not to fail him.

Flicks of her wrist arched the rope around her head in an ever-expanding circle to gain enough momentum. Around and around it whooshed, cutting the air with all the strength her Asgardian frame could muster, and when the Pegasus dipped once again beneath the bridge, she released. The loop in the rope arched toward Durindel, and there was one terrible, gut-wrenching moment when it seemed to hang in the air slowly enough the beast's escape was all but a certainty. Her eyes were dry, body so attuned to saving her son she couldn't process the danger, and then the loop was dropping around Durindel's head with an accompanying cheer from the people who'd gathered to witness the horror.

She snapped her wrist to draw the rope tight, mentally praising the light elves when the confines of the rope caused the Pegasus to become immediately pliable. He didn't buck or kick, thrash or heave, merely winged his way in her direction until the beast's hooves clattered against the bridge when Durindel finally came to a soft landing. Balder's sobs tore at her heart. Taking a sword to the gut wouldn't have hurt worse than hearing her son so desperately afraid.

Frigga tossed the rope to Heimdall before darting forward to snatch her son from the beast's back and press him against her bosom. She clenched her arms around him, buried her face in his golden hair, and finally allowed the worst of the terror to overwhelm her. Nothing could possibly come close to the strength-sapping hysteria of seeing one of her precious sons in such mortal danger. Balder seemed to feel the same, as his little arms had locked tightly around her neck, body shuddering with the strength of his sobbing.

The crowd slowly dispersed, several citizens of Asgard pausing to offer their concern over Balder's ordeal along with praise at her quick-thinking, after witnessing the young prince's rescue, leaving the queen of Asgard, Heimdall, and her child remaining on the Rainbow Bridge. Her heart hadn't slowed its erratic thundering, nor had her limbs recovered enough strength she was capable of making the trek back to the palace. Quaking knees weren't conducive to walking let alone gliding with any sense of grace or dignity, so it was best she remain right where she was for the time being.

"Wrangling such a spirited beast is praiseworthy, Your Majesty," Heimdall intoned, his voice rich like the scent of wood smoke and deep as the boundless mysteries of space. Iound liked to joke that if Frigga hadn't married Odin Borrson, she would have married the gatekeeper for the simple pleasure of listening to him speak.

"Would you do me the great service, Heimdall, of informing my husband he may sleep in the barracks with the soldiers tonight when he returns?" Naturally, she wasn't really angry with her husband but needed someone to blame for Balder's ordeal. Odin seemed convenient enough for the time being if for no other reason than because he hadn't been there to intervene on their son's behalf.

A smooth-as-silk chuckle escaped the gatekeeper, whose large hand settled against the back of her shoulder. "Will Her Majesty be changing her mind as soon as the All-Father returns from his dealings in Svartalfheim?"

"As long as he returns alive and with all his limbs intact, I would forgive him anything," she responded whilst attempting to ignore the worry in the pit of her belly. Svartalfheim, home of the dark elves, was not a place to tread lightly.

"Shall I call escort for you?"

"No thank you, Heimdall. I believe the walk would do me good and give my body a chance to settle before returning to my other sons." The gatekeeper received as pleasant a smile as she could possibly muster before turning from him to head back in the direction of the palace on knees still refusing to support her weight without shaking.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"You were scared like a little baby!" Thor exclaimed, fingers curled around a fat sausage snatched up from the plate in front of Loki, who was currently paying more attention to the manuscript in front of him than the food on his plate.

"He is a baby," Loki pointed out in a mild tone. His elder brother may have believed he simply hadn't noticed the theft of his sausage, but Loki simply didn't care about said sausage enough to prevent its not-so-subtle theft.

"Shut up," Balder said in a sullen tone, his face freshly-washed.

"Balder the baby," continued Thor, his manners not as refined as his middle sibling judging by the way he taunted their younger brother with his mouth full of sausage.

"Stop picking on me!" the youngest yelled in a voice gone raw and squeaky as a result of his recent ordeal.

Tuning out his siblings in order to concentrate on the book in front of him, which depicted tales of heroic battles fought on Midgard by some of Asgard's greatest heroes, wasn't so easy. They did insist on dialing up their volume, and from his position at the dining table, he could see through the archway into the sitting room where Mother was dabbing at her cheeks with a handkerchief. She flinched at the increasing ruckus. Mother was always more emotionally invested in situations than Father, but to still be crying over Balder's recent adventure was unusual even for her.

More than an hour had passed since the ordeal had concluded, heralding the arrival of lunch in the Odinson household, but Iound had been sent upon some errand after fixing them their plates, so Mother didn't even have the comfort of her loyal friend to settle her nerves. Loki's brow furrowed as he attempted to discern the possible courses of action that might improve Mother's mood. Only one solution seemed sentimental enough to result in the cessation of her tears; Father's safe return from his errand in Svartalfheim. He should have returned hours ago, but they'd received word his return would be forestalled by unforeseen events. Mother naturally worried about the possibility of an irreversible war.

"If _I'd _been aboard Durindel, I would have wrangled the beast into flying me to the top of the tallest mountain, but you were too busy crying to enjoy the adventure. Balder the baby!" Thor continued unabated in his taunting, obviously oblivious to their mother's torment.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it!" Balder wailed, his volume increasing with each phrase until he was screaming at their eldest sibling. Anger enflamed his face and four-year-old fingers were curled into indignant fists.

"Thor, stop being a bully," Loki finally interjected while kicking the side of the chair his older brother precariously knelt upon. Actually, he hadn't meant to kick it so hard, but with Thor's off-kilter balance, the kick was enough to knock the chair out from under his brother and send Thor tumbling to the floor with a thump and a crash.

Loki flinched mere seconds before their mother shouted, "Boys, please!"

Possessing the good grace to blush and feel badly at causing their mother further distress, he was quick to offer Thor a hand up. Vastly enjoying getting one up on his brother didn't mean it should come at the expense of their mother's sanity, who seemed to need them to behave right now. Obviously, his older brother was too stupid to figure this out on his own, surmised Loki. His assumption was proven correct when Thor, his expression sullen, gave a fierce tug that yanked the middle Odinson off his feet where the two proceeded to wrestle for dominance, Loki attempting to end the scuffle swiftly and Thor doing everything in his might to one-up his brother while Balder scrambled onto the table to avoid having his chair knocked out from under him by the thrashing duo.

The stalemate was brought to an end when the middle Odinson twisted swiftly enough to straddle Thor's chest, his older brother's neck caught between his knees in a vice-like grip. Momentarily allowing his chest to puff up with pride at having outmaneuvered his brother didn't mean he was going to gloat the way Thor so often did.

"Stop wiggling like a fish, you empty-headed bilgestipe," hissed Loki.

"I'm not stupid, and I'm not a bilgestipe!"

"Then quit acting that way for ten minutes. Can't you see Mother is upset?"

His elder brother pursed his lips, brow knitting as he worked something out in his own head. Finally, he recanted with a nod. "Get off me."

Something akin to caution had been ground into Loki so thoroughly he slowly eased his weight from Thor instead of flinging himself to the side. There'd been too many incidences where Thor would throw a last minute punch while shouting "never drop your guard in front of the mighty Thor" in a perfect imitation of his hand-to-hand combat instructor. Honestly. His brother could be trying in the same way Balder had been trying when he'd cried incessantly for no apparent reason other than to hear himself wail.

"How do we make mother not sad anymore?" inquired Thor when the golden-haired boy had regained his feet and dusted himself off.

Loki shrugged only to expound when he said, "Retrieve Father from Svartalfheim? I think she's afraid he won't come back in one piece."

Thor's expression seemed to communicate it was blasphemy to even ponder such a thing while clasping Balder's waist to pull their younger sibling from off the table. The surface of said table was now slick with spilled sauces and smeared food, which meant it was in slightly better shape than their sibling's sticky face.

Words weren't forthcoming until Thor settled their brother back at the table to allow Balder to finish his lunch, at which point, he said, "Papa is the All-Father. Nothing in any of the nine realms could hurt him."

"You have noticed he's missing one eye, yes?" Loki's voice was momentarily dripping with sarcasm while pointing out the irony of Thor's assumption.

"Shut up."

"Stop being stupid, and I'll shut up."

"Stop being tiny, and I'll quit telling you to shut up."

"I'm not tiny," he growled softly. A faint green aura coalesced in the palm of his hand when he immediately started manipulating the power coursing through Asgard to form a ball of energy in his palm the way Mother had shown him.

"Enough!" hissed Thor, but there was now a seed of concern planted in his tone. "We should go get Papa before something bad happens. But Heimdall won't let us use the bifrost after Papa said we're not supposed to go to any other realms by ourselves."

"Didn't Father mention something about nexus portals that aren't connected to the bifrost? There are several of them on Asgard that lead to other realms. I think only Midgard isn't reachable by the portals." His expression tilted in the direction of confusion, allowing his brother, always eager to be more intelligent, to figure the solution out on his own.

Thor's eyes widened. "There's a portal to Svartalfheim in the floating tower, but the transport pad from the Rainbow Bridge to the tower is guarded."

"Well now," Loki began with a curious little smile. "A person wouldn't need to take the transport pad if they had wings."

Vibrantly blue eyes widened even farther, a brilliant smile lighting the eldest Odinson's expression when he put the pieces Loki laid out together. "I have a plan. Let's go get Father back so Mother won't be sad any longer."

As soon as Thor's back was turned, Loki permitted himself a quirk of his lips, a moment of pride inflating his chest when his own ingenuity so effortlessly steered Thor in the direction he wanted his older brother to take. Soon enough, their mother would be smiling again when she realized Father was safe.

* * *

A shuddering breath allowed the last of the terror to melt from Frigga's bones, at which point, she wiped wetness from her eyes with the last remaining clean corner of her handkerchief. Fine creases etched into her brow when she realized how quiet the dining room had become since shouting at Thor and Loki. She didn't doubt for a moment her boys loved her, but sometimes their rambunctious natures circumvented their desire to please their mother. At any rate, it wasn't like them to remain quietly focused on their own pursuits for longer than fifteen minutes at a time, so she rolled to her feet to pad back into the dining room.

Eyes widened to the size of dinner plates upon witnessing the mess left of the table. Food had sloshed off plates, silverware had clattered to the floor, cups had been overturned to spill juice across the oak surface, and Balder was sitting amidst the chaos, having climbed onto the table to better steal from the one remaining dish left undisturbed; a bowl of berries. The boy's face was covered in a sticky mess of residue, not because he wasn't fully capable of sitting up straight at the table and eating like a civilized child. No, she witnessed the horror of her youngest son sticking his face in the bowl of berries to lip plump fruit into his mouth as though miming an animal. Patience was required, so she took a deep breath.

"What am I, Mama?" he asked directly before neighing like a horse.

She didn't faint. Turning on her heel, she pressed her face into her hands, releasing a soft groan accompanied by a mental chant of _"I've raised a pack of animals." _How would they ever grow into honorable and decent men when the two eldest behaved like wild monkeys and the youngest thought he was a horse? There was another part of her that wanted to burst into hysterical tears, because what would the rest of Asgard think if they could see how their princes behaved in the privacy of their own apartment?

Another breath kept her from shouting, and when she turned back around, it was to heft her youngest from the middle of the table. Once he was settled against her hip, she stooped to right the chairs Loki and Thor had been inhabiting at the start of lunch. The two trouble makers were noticeably absent.

"Where have your brothers gotten to?"

Still carrying on with his game, Balder neighed, fisting his hands to mime a rearing stallion's hooves striking at air.

_Patience, Frigga_, she said to herself, a faint throb in her temples her Asgardian body immediately sought to heal.

"Use your big boy words, Balder," she instructed. "Where are your brothers?"

"Rescuing Papa," he finally said a moment before burying his sticky face against her hair and throat. Naturally, the boy nuzzled, which only smeared the goop now transferred to her.

"Balder!" she said in a tone trapped between exasperation and frustration.

Her older sons were constantly getting into some game or another, pretend battles fought in the halls of the royal palace as they defended the realm from invading frost giants or the even more malevolent denizens of Hel known as the balmora. Given their track record, Frigga filed the information away as their latest game. At nine and seven, Thor and Loki were allowed to roam the royal wing without a constant babysitter, so she decided to leave them to their game for the time being, which would give her an opportunity to spend some uninterrupted time with her youngest, whose imagination still seemed focused on pretending he was a horse.

They needed the quality time together without her attention being diverted to the older boys, especially after Balder's unexpected adventure she hoped wouldn't leave lasting trauma. Passing through the sitting room deposited them in a bathing room, a separate chamber from the toilet facilities on Asgard, where a large pool of water dominated the center of the room. Lazy steam rising from the heated pool misted the air, but she chose the bathtub instead. Bits of food floating around the pool didn't make for an enjoyable soak at the end of a hard day.

A motion sensor pad allowed her to input the desired temperature before swiping her fingers across the base of the pad, which caused water to spill from a golden spout shaped in the representation of a swan's neck and opened beak. Thankfully, Balder wasn't opposed to bathing. Thor was at such an age where bodily cleanliness didn't seem as important as spending that extra fifteen minutes fighting unseen monsters. That and she believed he was reaching an age where certain discoveries were being made about his masculine body, discoveries requiring a long talk from Odin, who seemed to have time for everything but explaining confusing subjects about burgeoning hormonal surges. That talk would carry more weight coming from his father.

Thanks to Balder's affection, they both needed a bath, so she unhooked the brooches pinning the shoulders of her dress to rid herself of the garment. A few moments were required to free her youngest from his play clothes before she settled them both in the bath. Sighing in contentment, she hunkered down under the surface to submerge as much of herself as possible when the warm water soaked into her skin and allowed her muscles to melt somewhere in the region of relaxation. It wouldn't hurt Balder to amuse himself for a few moments, something he immediately saw to upon discovering a bar of soap made an excellent pretend boat.

"What's a portal?" the boy suddenly asked whilst wedging himself between her hip and the copper bath's side wall.

A hazel eye popped open and turned in Balder's direction. How did one explain something so scientifically complex to a four year old? "Do you see this washcloth?" Retrieving the cloth patterned with small blue circles, she draped the material over two of her fingers, allowing a section to sag between her outstretched fingers. "If you were small as an ant, how would you get from one finger to the other?"

Balder's expression squirreled up in a calculating look as he gave thought to his response. Finally, he skimmed a finger over the surface of the cloth to trace a path down into the valley and up onto the top of her other finger.

"That is the logical path to follow, but if my fingers were miles apart, can you imagine how long a journey that would be?"

"Years and years and years," he responded.

Frigga chuckled softly. "Well, not quite that long if they're only a few miles apart, but it would take a long time on foot. A portal is an invisible bridge stretching from this dot to this dot." She indicated small dots on the top of each finger. "It allows you to go from here to here in a matter of minutes. Do you understand?"

Wet tendrils of golden hair bobbed as he nodded.

Pleased beyond words to have shared such a moment of teaching with her youngest son, she soaped her teaching tool in order to wash away the mess left on Balder's cheeks. Whether or not he retained the information for longer than the afternoon was another matter, but hopefully the lesson would be recalled at some future point when learning about Yggdrasil became less daunting. Perhaps during a future lesson, Balder would recall an afternoon spent bonding with his mother, maybe even smile at remembering how she'd demonstrated through the use of something as simple as a washcloth. Maybe the thought would become so endearing it would stay with him through the countless centuries of his life.

Yes, he would remember when the subject was raised later in his education when such complex thoughts were more easily grasped. The thought was revised while Frigga bathed her son's body, still soft and rounded by lingering baby fat. Children's minds were often far more open and accepting than those of adults. One could tell a child that jumping to different planets was not only possible but easy, and they would accept it as fact. It would become fodder for games in which the imagination turned them into horses or allowed them the strength to battle imaginary frost giants. Telling adults something equally complex resulted in a myriad of questions about the how and why of it.

She had just finished rinsing shampoo from his hair when she thought to ask, "What makes you curious about portals? Did your tutor bring them up this morning?" The subject seemed ambitious for a group of four year olds just beginning their education, but where else would he have heard about them?

"Uh uh," he responded. "Thor said there was a portal in the floating tower when he was planning how to rescue Papa from Sartel-Suhvar-Sffforel-"

"Svartelheim?" guessed Frigga.

"Uh huh! That place."

The fine lines on her forehead deepened. Surely it was just a game. Thor knew better. Didn't he? Odin had forbidden them from even attempting to manipulate Heimdall into allowing them to use the bifrost. There had been a disastrous series of events in which Loki had somehow manipulated a guard into speaking to Heimdall, convincing the gatekeeper Odin had sent word to have his sons delivered to Midgard during peace talks held in a neutral location. The boys had been alone in one of the seedy, unsanitary, and crime-ridden cities of medieval Earth for a week before Odin had been able to find them. Thinking of last year's events still made her stomach clench with fear, and the boys had clung to her for a month before they'd recovered enough for their natural curiosity to win out over caution. Surely they wouldn't think of circumventing Odin's order with thoughts of "he didn't forbid us from using the portals!"

Her heart was suddenly pounding. Knowing her boys as well as she did, she wouldn't put it past either of them to go off on such a dangerous journey without thinking of the consequences. Frigga launched herself out of the tub, scooped Balder up against her hip, and ran for the communication console that linked every room of the palace. Swiping her fingers across the touch screen turned it on, and she activated the intercom to open a line between the royal suite and the weapons vault were she'd sent Iound to oversee guards moving Durindel into a safer location where her sons wouldn't be tempted to clamor aboard again.

"Iound, answer me."

Silence.

"Iound?" Her voice rose to a higher volume, her arms already shaking from the terrible dread suddenly rooting through her belly. Somehow she knew beyond a sliver of doubt Thor and Loki were in the midst of something disastrous.

The front door swished open to admit the very woman she'd been attempting to contact, who immediately turned her eyes downcast upon realizing the queen was naked. Her voice was just shy of terrified when the woman said, "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I've failed you most grievously. We were in the process of clearing room in the weapon's vault for Durindel when the young princes sneaked past the guards. Before anyone even knew what was happening, they'd clamored aboard the beast's back."

"They were last spotted launching from a balcony and taking to the skies," she said, purposefully repeating the same line Iound had closed with earlier. Frigga squeezed her eyes closed and tightened her arm around her youngest son. Obviously, her boys had woken with the single-minded purpose that today was the day they would finally drive her bonkers.

"Yes. Your Majesty, please forgive me. Had I any inkling they would recreate Balder's hapless adventure, I would have better guarded the statue."

A deep breath was required to settle the spasms gripping her stomach. With her husband engaging the Scourge of Worlds, a dark elf of terrible renown, saving the boys rested solely upon her shoulders. Failing the boys, being unable to rescue them from Svartalfheim, was something she would never be able to forgive herself for, so she needed calm. She needed focus. She needed to be the queen of Asgard and recapture that same calculating determination that had driven her into storming into Hel to save her husband.

Calm snapped into focus like a wet towel cracking with a forceful flick. Nodding, she thrust Balder toward Iound while issuing the command, "Don't let this one out of your sight. Send word to General Sigurn I am in need of a small contingent of our finest soldiers. No more than ten individuals, who will help me drive a spear into the heart of Svartalfheim."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Iound responded while tucking Balder on her hip.

"I love my mama," Balder chimed in his sweetest voice.

Pausing, she turned to look at her youngest. Asgardians simply didn't say those words as often as they should, so hearing Balder say them momentarily distracted her from preparing herself for war. Tears stung her eyes, and Frigga swept back over to drag her youngest into a tight embrace, at which point, she buried her face in his hair to carry his scent with her into the home of the dark elves. "I love you too, my son."

Sentimentality was shoved aside when she envisioned her two oldest boys running, their sweet faces cut in lines of desperation, from a horde of dark elves bent on opening their bellies and consuming their livers. Dark elves were such vile, violent creatures they bore little resemblance to their learned cousins on Alfheim. Should her boys stumble unprotected upon a nest of dark elves, their only hope for survival would be her timely arrival and the desperation whispered to the four winds that _something _intervened on their behalf, be it destiny or coincidence. The very thought painted a hard expression over her visage before she dashed into her bedchamber to don clothing and armor.

The former was a crimson dress made of silk so tightly woven it would deter an arrow and the later buried so deeply in her closet as to make obvious her desire to never wear it again. Odin had commissioned the dwarves of Nidevillar to craft the armor in the deepest fires in the depths of their mountain realm for her wedding present. It was nearly as impenetrable as dragon scales but weighed no more than the finest silk in her closet, the silver breastplate fitting over the dress like a second skin to protect her vital organs. From her shoulders cascaded a cape, a river of crimson cloth which had been enchanted to form an impenetrable barrier. She would pass the cape down to her oldest son when age and infirmity prevented her from needing it again.

Around her waist was belted the sword of Frey, the hilt of which was imbedded with the Norn Stones, which granted the wielder enhancement to their natural ability to manipulate magic. This was a weapon she would pass down to Balder when he came of age. Thor would receive her cape, Balder her weapon, and Loki the countless hours teaching him what she knew of magic. That would be the physical legacy she left for her children, but she hoped the gentle care and guidance given to them over the course of their lives would prove the ultimate contribution, the guiding force that helped her boys grow into men.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The middle Odinson was seconds away from being sick from the wild flight aboard Durindel. They'd finally found one thing Thor wasn't naturally better at than everyone else; manipulating the Pegasus into flying in the direction they needed to go with enough finesse to prevent said beast from bucking. Maybe if his older brother didn't insist on yanking the stallion's mane as though wrestling a wild boar Durindel wouldn't be so adamant about going in every direction but toward the easternmost floating tower.

Loki, his stomach grinding its displeasure, smacked at his brothers hands, which were currently wound around his waist since Thor had insisted on riding in back to prevent "someone so small and tiny from being thrown from the beast's back." He hadn't appreciated the sentiment. He'd appreciated "I am the mighty Thor and you are my little brother," even less.

"Let go, you silly ox brain!" he shouted.

"I almost have the beast under control, Brother," Thor yelled back.

Bile sloshed up into his mouth when they were suddenly falling into a dive, black wings tucking close to Durindel's body, that streaked them toward the ocean far below. There didn't seem any possible way the beast would pull up in time to spare them from crashing into the surface where they would no doubt drown. Their bodies would either wash up on shore somewhere or be swept over the edge of the planetoid to never be seen again, and Mother would cry even harder than she'd previously been crying. A breath he hadn't even known he was holding rushed out when Durindel flared his wings at the last possible second, bringing them to an immediate halt as the beast turned parallel with the ocean's surface.

"Control: Noun. The state of being in command and having direction over. Sentence Example: Thor failed to control the enchanted Pegasus' flight, resulting in beast and boys crashing into the rocks and dying. Would you care to revise the word usage of your statement?"

"Shut up," huffed Thor.

"Let go, and I'll shut up."

"Stop nagging like a girl, and I'll let go."

"Stop being an empty-headed twit, and I'll stop nagging."

"Stop nagging, and I'll stop being an empty-headed…. Hey!"

"Thor. Let. Go!" Loki shouted with an increasing note of concern in his voice when Durindel raced toward the Rainbow Bridge where a group of onlookers was gathering. The beast skimmed toward the bridge with such low clearance Loki swore they'd hit their heads and be thrown from its back.

Thor's hands finally unclenched from Durindel's black mane, allowing Loki to lay a hand on either side of their mount's neck. Mother had only begun to scratch the surface in teaching him how to manipulate the inherent power pervading Asgard. _"Beneath the layer of power we use to generate energy for our devices, there exists a subtle energy called magic. Like this curtain, the fabric of magic is malleable and can be manipulated to produce numerous desired effects."_ He wasn't at all certain his attempts at manipulating the Pegasus would be effective, but desperate times and all that.

Using his hands as contact points, he folded the subtle magical layer and pressed it into Durindel through the pores in the beast's skin. The horseflesh beneath his palms warmed as he implanted the suggestion that Durindel reverse his direction and wing gently toward the tower that was their destination. A smile blossomed on his lips when his actions created the desired result. Were Mother present, she would surely lavish him with praise and affection.

"How did you do that?" Thor asked, his tone bordering awe.

"You should pay more attention when Mother demonstrates how to manipulate Asgard's magical energy," he responded. A strange sense of accomplishment brought his shoulders more erect upon discerning the pride in his older brother's voice.

"I've tried," he responded with a note of sourness in his tone. "Mama told Father I'm not naturally inclined to magic."

"So? Your strengths exist in other areas. Don't be an overachiever and expect you'll be brilliant at everything your hand touches."

"I must be brilliant at everything, because I'm…"

"Finish that sentence with any variation of 'the mighty Thor,' and I'll convince Durindel to buck you off and kick you in the head."

"The horse…"

"Pegasus," Loki corrected.

"Stop being infuriatingly correct!"

"Stop being a dunderhead, and I'll stop being correct."

"Stop being a smart aleck, and I'll stop being a… Enough!"

A moment of silence stretched between them while each boy gazed over the buildings far below, overpowering structures that suddenly seemed so tiny. Everything about Asgard looked small from such a distance, and they'd only just begun their explorations of the city under Father's watchful gaze. _"Although only one of you can be king," _their father liked to say, _"both of you will be lords of Asgard tasked with defending this realm and all those in the universe weaker than you. All of this…" _Their father often paused there for dramatic effect before continuing, _"will be yours: Your responsibility. Your burden. Your honor. My sons, all of you born of noble background, must have the grace to be honorable men."_

"We have to hurry," Thor said, finally breaking their comfortable silence. "Someone will have sent word to Mother that we stole Durindel. We have to be through the portal before the guards can be informed and transport into the tower."

"We're almost there. As soon as I take my hands off the Pegasus, it'll start kicking again, so be ready to jump down when we come in for a landing."

Heat produced in the horseflesh beneath his palms was reaching an uncomfortable level the longer he kept the spell enacted. Mother's patient tutelage filtered into his mind. "_Molding the magical fabric requires concentration and discipline. Holding onto the energy for prolonged periods will have physical consequences. You must know your limits or risk bodily harm."_

Bodily harm was approaching, his palms just beginning to scald, when Durindel flared his wings to reduce their speed and gracefully alighted on the roof of the central floating tower. Smaller towers rotated around the inner axis as though puzzle pieces being manipulated by invisible hands to determine where each piece best fit. Thankfully, Thor remembered his instructions and dropped from Durindel's back, allowing Loki to release his contact points and bail onto the building's roof. Breath hissed through his teeth. He smoothed his palms over the silk of his shirt to somehow sooth the irritation.

"Let me see," Thor said. His elder brother didn't give him any choice and forcefully manipulated his hands until his palms were facing upward. Sympathy produced a similar hiss of discomfort from the older boy.

"I had to hold on too long," Loki whispered, tears stinging his hazel eyes.

"When we get inside, take the transport point back to the Rainbow Bridge, and I'll go on to Svartalfheim alone. Mama will want you to go to the Healing Room."

"You're not going by yourself."

"I'm older. That means you have to do what I say."

"You're not going alone," repeated Loki with appropriate emphasis. "My hands will be fine in a couple of hours."

Thor gripped his shoulder and pinned him with a heated glance as though searching for even a moment of doubt or weakness. Finally, he nodded. "Okay, but don't hurt yourself again. Musilnir will cleave Papa's enemies in two."

Being of an age where no one had allowed him to touch real weapons, Loki couldn't fathom much difference between Musilnir and the sword Heimdall used. Thor claimed Musilnir would cleave their father's enemies in two, and he believed his brother and his brother's weapon capable of such feats of greatness. A nod communicated he accepted Thor's confidence as truth before trotting down the spiraling stairs accessed when Thor muscled the maintenance hatch in the building's roof open.

Down into the depths of the building they dashed, the older brother taking steps two at a time as he bounded around the spirals that followed the circumference of the walls ahead of the younger sibling. There were no banisters protecting them from falling dozens of feet to the floor, but Loki took courage from his brother's boldness and dashed after him as quickly as his shorter legs would allow. He pushed ahead of his brother upon reaching the tower's base, approaching the circular symbol carved into the metal floor with caution. A touch-screen console was mounted to the wall nearby.

Thor paused, confusion pulling his expression tense when he stopped outside the symbol's circumference. Stepping over the broad, unbroken band surrounding the impression caused his older brother's eyes to squeeze closed as though anticipating an immediate transference to Svartalfheim. Seconds later, one eye popped back open.

"Nothing happened."

"Behold The Mighty Thor: Speaker of the Mighty Obvious," Loki commented with a sardonic chuckle while approaching the console.

"Shut up."

"Stop being mighty obvious, and I'll…"

His brother immediately interrupted, "Don't start that again, Loki Odinson."

Both hands lifted in the universal signal of surrender. Using his full name wasn't playing fair if anyone wanted Loki's opinion. Mother took that tone of voice with them when they'd pushed her to the very limits of her patience, and if they still didn't behave, punishment would be forthcoming. Their mother was brilliantly gifted at determining which form of discipline would be most effective. Thor was made to sit with his nose facing a corner and read. Loki's punishments usually involved forced labor wherein he was required to clean up after himself rather than the maids doing it for him. He had no patience for putting things away.

Swiping his fingers across the console activated the screen, a series of numbers and letters available for selection. Appropriate study of the on-screen directions allowed him to make the necessary selections. Two travelers would be transported to the corresponding nexus pad on Svartalfheim, the function to be activated in thirty seconds. Nodding to himself, he entered the command and trotted over to step past the outer band and take his place next to Thor.

"How long before the portal activates?"

"Quiet," responded Loki.

Carvings on the transport point leading back to the Rainbow Bridge were just lighting up to indicate a transport in progress when similar carvings on the nexus portal took on a silver sheen. A circle of light flared around them, penetrated their skin, pierced through them, and seemed to become part of them, Loki's eyes widening when his feet lifted from the floor. His body seemed to take on a weightlessness quality, and seconds later, they shot toward the roof at such speed he swore they would slam into the surface, at which point, they would need to be cleaned off with a mop.

But they didn't make contact with the roof. The light was part of them, and they were part of the light, and the light passed through without meeting what should have been barrier. Out into space they plunged, the portal stretching out in front of them until contact was made with the opposite portal on Svartalfheim. They came to a gentle landing. Their feet made contact with the solid surface of rock in which the portal had been carved, and things seemed to happen in reverse. His body became solid, and the light seeped out of his pores.

Just as soon as the light retracted into the carvings, Loki glanced at their surroundings, eyes widening when they came face to face with three adult dark elves. Fear immediately twisted his belly. He'd seen representations of dark elves in textbooks and epic murals painted in the hall of histories, but nothing prepared him for seeing them up close and personal, for smelling the rotten meat on their breath when they, clutching ragged looking swords and spears, circled the nexus portal to surround Loki and Thor.

"Stand down," Thor ground out in his most authoritative voice.

One elf snapped jagged teeth at the other for stepping in his way before speaking in a garbled language that barely passed for words. His comrade responded by slamming an elbow back into the offender's face. Black blood immediately oozed from the offender's mouth and nose. Gushing wasn't a suitable description: The substance appeared far too thick to effectively gush from any open wound.

While the two squabbled, he grabbed Thor's wrist and turned with every intention of making haste from the area before the dark elves' attention could refocus on them. They came up against the third elf, who was effectively blocking their path of retreat with arms akimbo and short spear pointed in their direction.

"A fine prize will the children of our enemy make," hissed the dark elf.

Throat aching from holding back a shout, he twisted his fingers before pulling them apart to form a ball of magical energy in the palm of his hand, but releasing it in the dark elf's face was forestalled when Thor slammed Musilnir against the creature's kneecaps. A soft shout of surprise accompanied the action, because Musilnir didn't cleave Father's enemies in twain as his older brother had boasted.

Chaos suddenly exploded. The dark elf Thor had attacked howled in pain from the sheer strength behind the swing, its meaty fist striking his brother's temple. Thor spun, rocks skittering out from beneath his boots, and he hit the ground with enough force his head recoiled from off the rocks. Blood was immediately seeping from a laceration in his temple.

Meanwhile, the two squabbling elves either sorted out their misunderstanding or were driven to cooperation when violence erupted, giving Loki no choice but to deposit the ball of energy at their feet. He simply wasn't well-versed enough to provide a serious threat to three fully grown dark elves. When the energy ball burst, they were tripped up momentarily, but the third elf quickly seized his wrist in a punishing grip.

Breath panted in and out of his lungs at the pain accompanying the force being exerted on his appendage. There was a sharp popping sensation followed by the crunch of bone as his forearm snapped at an awkward angle, and no matter how strong he tried to be, a wail escaped when agony registered in his brain. All he could do was kick and scream and sink his teeth into the exposed dark elf forearm in the hopes Thor could recover enough to slip away without being captured. Thor could make it. Surely someone as brave and strong as his older brother could single-handedly find Father and bring him back.

"Let him go, you odious beast!" Thor shouted.

The older Odinson sprang to his feet and clobbered the elf restraining Loki, solid blade making contact with the elf's head. Said head jerked to the side, black goop oozing from a large laceration to the skin. There was enough of an element of surprise behind the strike the younger Odinson found himself immediately freed, and he wasn't sticking around to have his other arm broken. He scrambled, ducking beneath a flailing arm to come up on the back side of their third attacker while the other two focused their attention on Thor.

Leaping into the air, Thor delivered a double-footed kick against an elf's chest. He dropped clumsily to the ground, but the elf was propelled backward into his comrades where the three of them collided in a tangle of limbs. There was enough confusion crackling the air two of them lost their balance and tumbled over the precipice. The third, however, released a terrible, ear-piercing shriek before lunging toward the elder Odinson.

Tears streaming down his face and clutching his broken arm against his chest, Loki almost couldn't find enough concentration to pull another ball of magical energy from the atmosphere. The energy formed in his hand, a pulsing mass of desperation that was hurled at their third attacker. Enough energy was packed inside the sphere it threw the dark elf backward, giving Thor enough time to retreat to a safer distance.

Such a tense situation convinced the boys retreat was their best option, and the younger Odinson was all too happy when Thor grasped his shoulder and propelled him toward the opposite side of the narrow precipice on which the nexus portal had been formed. The going was rough when he had only one useable hand, but between himself and his sibling, they were able to jump and scramble their way down a series of ledges where they tucked themselves into the deeper shadows in the valley floor to which they descended.

Once there, he found himself pressed backwards into a small rock overhang while Thor perched himself at the entrance and craned his neck to look up the recently-vacated cliff in perusal of their attacker. Desperate sounds of pain were muffled against the hand he slapped over his mouth. How had such a grand adventure soured so badly so quickly? He wanted to go home. He wanted to curl up on Mother's lap while she crooned sweet things in his ears. Most importantly, he wanted their father to come home and forbid them from ever doing something so dangerous again.

"It's not following," whispered Thor before turning away from the entrance. His brother's touch was surprisingly gentle upon cupping Loki's elbow to inspect the damage, but there was little anyone could do without a splint.

"How are we going to get back up to the portal?" Loki asked in a strained, warbling voice. Controlling the response was decidedly difficult, so all he could do was wipe his snotty nose on the sleeve of his shirt.

"We're not," admitted Thor. "That thing's still up there. We don't know if it has more friends waiting around for us, and your arm's hurt. We have to find Father."

"Leave me here then. Taking me with you will only slow you down."

"That's the stupidest thing you've ever said. Leave you here by yourself with a broken arm and no idea how many more of those things are wandering around? Brothers don't abandon their siblings. I don't ever want to hear you say that again."

"Think, Thor. You're going to go faster and quieter without me tagging along. If you go now, you can find Father and bring him back to get me."

"Hush," Thor admonished more firmly and with clear concern in his expression. "I'm not leaving you here by yourself. Full stop. We'll go together, and we'll take things slowly so we don't bump into any new friends unexpectedly."

Sniffling, he forced a brave expression and finally nodded, brow arching in question when his sibling rent both sleeves of his shirt until capable of tearing them off. Understanding dawned when Thor tied them to form a sling, at which point, he helped Loki ease his broken arm into position. The ache hadn't diminished in the slightest, but the new position was slightly more comfortable and would prevent him from accidentally putting weight on the appendage.

A moment of stunned silence passed between the two while each attempted to fully realize the bleakness of their situation. They were trapped in enemy territory, cut off from the portal that would see them home safely, uncertain about where their father was, and the younger Odinson was on the verge of bawling again from the discomfort of his injury. Eventually, he would learn his lesson about involving them in mischief. For now, he used the sleeve of his shirt to dab away blood smeared on Thor's forehead. The shallow laceration was already healed.

Clearly, he hadn't thoroughly thought his plan through to account for all possibilities. His plan should have resulted in them arriving in the midst of an Asgardian stronghold, numerous soldiers left behind to guard the portal and prevent themselves from being cut off from their point of return to Asgard. Considering the portal was placed atop a tall cliff jutting from a dense mountain range, only a set of narrow stairs allowing ease of travel back to the peak, it should have been an easily defensible location. Father failing to leave soldiers behind to guard it could only mean there'd been unexpected trouble.

"Come on, Brother; we have to keep moving," Thor finally said.

Snuffing back snot from his recent bout of tears, he clamored to his feet. "Which way?" he asked quietly. Ahead of them lay a wide plain full of small rock formations, mounds of smaller stones having been stacked precariously to form nubbins laid out in universal patterns. To the right would take them east and allow them to round the peninsula.

"Right, but stay close and try not to make any noise. We need to stay out of sight as much as possible so that thing doesn't see us from on top of the cliff."

"Thor?"

"What is it, Loki?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"We should be home right now, and it's my fault we're not."

"Shut up."

"Stop being obtuse, and I'll shut up."

"Stop being silly, and I'll stop being obtuse."

"Stop being so brave, and I'll stop being silly."

Thor jerked his head back a little, obviously surprised at hearing such a sentiment before saying, "But you're the brave one, Loki, not me."

The younger Odinson's eyes widened. How could Thor possibly consider him the brave one? His older brother was bigger, stronger, and bolder. "No, I'm not. You're everything a warrior should be."

A little smile cocked his lips. "Bravery is overcoming fear and uncertainty in the face of mortal danger to fight for what you believe in and the people you love. You're the brave one, Little Brother."

Loki's eyes became big and wobbly again, a sheen of moisture springing there. His bottom lip shuddered. When he finally darted after Thor, there was something bolder and more confident about the slant of his shoulders and straightness of his spine. Thor thought he was brave: There could be no greater reward than that.

Picking their way around the valley floor was done quietly and carefully. Breathing became more difficult when they were moving, as the air was stiff, static crackling the atmosphere and making them even more uncomfortable. Even the light seemed artificial as though they'd appeared inside a massive cavern lit by faint lamps that couldn't quite beat back the gloom. The chill in the air was the worst. Cold settled into his bones and made his arm ache even more than it normally would have.

When they finally rounded the peninsula and entered the valley proper where the path down from the portal emptied, Loki gasped in a terrified breath at witnessing the horror before them. Bodies were twisted in a macabre scene he knew would haunt his nightmares for a century to come, golden armor just as prevalent on those dead bodies as the rough, homespun cloth of the dark elves. A terrible battle had taken place there. Asgardians and dark elves lay twisted together as the parched ground soaked up spilled blood.

"Thor, where's Father?" asked Loki with fear and dread coating his voice.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"They're children, Sigurn," Frigga hissed, her voice cold and angry. "They should _never _have gotten this far in the first place."

A perpetual cramp had seized her belly, a slow-burning terror that allowed her to function whilst simultaneously existing on the very edge of losing control and vomiting. Having appeared in Svartalfheim moments ago, she still was having trouble making her mind believe what her eyes were seeing. Black blood coated the naked blade of her sword from having dropped a dark elf scrambling to escape over the side of a cliff, but the true horror lay in the valley below where she could make out Asgardian soldiers and dark elves lying broken from recent combat. Even from the distance separating them, she could hear the moans and desperate cries of those who had yet to succumb to their wounds.

"The guards were unprepared, Your Majesty, because they were in the middle of shift change when the young princes infiltrated the portal tower."

"I don't care if they were in the middle of witnessing the birth of their own children. That tower chamber is _never_ to be left unmanned again. Do you understand me, General?"

Sigurn was quick to duck his head in submission and respond, "Yes, Your Majesty. Your command will be fulfilled upon our return to Asgard."

Henceforth and for the duration of the rest of the millennium, her sons were grounded. No parties. No play dates with their friends. No sleepovers. No cake. Their behinds were being permanently affixed to their beds, and they would enjoy protein shakes and vitamin-infused broth for the next thousand years. Trouble was, she was so worried about their safety, punishing them would be the farthest thing from her mind when they were reunited, and they _would_ be reunited. Allowing herself to think of any other possibility would make her cease to function. Unfortunately, there was no way to determine where her sons currently were. Had the dark elf she'd killed been a long straggler, or had her sons been abducted by other enemies previously waiting by the portal?

Where was her husband?

Odin had taken the bifrost, which allowed him to transport a number of soldiers at once, to Svartalfheim mere days ago in response to a series of attempted invasions. Dark elves had killed four soldiers stationed in the nexus portal tower and had gotten so far as arriving on the Rainbow Bridge before they could be stopped. Though her husband valued peace, nothing short of military force would have adequately answered the last attempted invasion when a young Asgardian girl had been killed on the Rainbow Bridge.

Stomach cramping in dread, Frigga, her blade still exposed, picked her way down the long series of stairs that would take them into the valley below. Her eyesight was excellent, but given the gloom of Svartalfheim's atmosphere, she couldn't be certain her eyes weren't playing tricks on her when she spied movement below. An Asgardian soldier finally extricated himself from the knot of bodies he'd been buried under and stood in the middle of the chaos looking rather dumbfounded.

"Sigurn." She swept her hand toward the young man.

No further command was required to illustrate her point, as the simple motion sent Sigurn hurrying past to jog down the remainder of the stairs. Upon his arrival, an arm eased around the man's waist in an effort to help support a soldier apparently known to the general. "Captain Asolf, what happened here?"

She drew closer, scanning the battlefield while keeping her ear open to Asolf's response.

"They were waiting in force when we arrived on Svartalfheim," he began, voice pained and breathing ragged. "Dark elves held the field and bottlenecked us against the cliff face, preventing us from coming at them in numbers. Worse still, they possessed some manner of device that seemed to swallow every blast from the All-Father's spear."

"Where is the All-Father, Captain?" asked Sigurn.

The captain was momentarily overcome by a cough, breath rasping in and out of his throat while a hand pressed against a growing bloodstain spreading across the side of his garment. A jagged hole had been opened in his breastplate.

Gliding toward the soldiers, Frigga dropped into a crouch to inspect the damage beneath his armor. She retrieved a small vial from a container on her belt and dribbled the contents over the soldier's wound to slow the bleeding and offer some relief from the pain. After tucking the remainder of the vial back in her case, she deposited a few tiny hydration capsules in his mouth which would expand and ease a throat no doubt terribly parched.

"Your Majesty," Asolf whispered. He made an attempt at showing obeisance but was too stiff and sore to press his fist against his shoulder.

"Captain, where is my husband?" The tiniest seed of terror was allowed to creep into her voice so Asolf would understand the desperation fueling her insistence. "Where is the king?"

"Taken," responded Asolf.

"Taken where?" inquired Sigurn, a note of fear in his tone.

"A small group of dark elves survived the battle and took the All-Father into custody. There was little he could do considering their foul device nullified his tremendous strength. I lost sight of them, but you can be certain they're taking him to the Scourge of Worlds. Their king makes his home in the east."

The queen of Asgard was immediately on her feet. Her sons were lost somewhere in Svartalfheim, either wandering alone and terrified or having been taken captive by surviving dark elves. Odin had been captured and was being transported to stand before the strongest dark elf to have been born in the history of Svartalfheim. And she had ten men to both rescue her husband and her sons. They were all being permanently affixed to immovable objects just as soon as they were home safe and sound.

"Your Majesty," Sigurn was saying while gaining his feet, "you must return through the portal with Captain Asolf. He's in no condition to be here, and you are all the hope Asgard has left at the moment. Myself and my soldiers will go on alone."

"I'm not leaving, General. Have one of your soldiers escort Asolf through the portal and then return here. We will track the All-Father and hopefully reach him before they arrive at the lair of the Scourge of Worlds. Either my sons are already in captivity, which means they're with him, or they are tracking their father. Find Odin, and we will find my boys."

General Sigurn clearly wanted to overrule her command. His jaw was clenched with such force a muscle ticked wildly. Perhaps he was right in his desire to protect her welfare, but no power in any of the nine realms could make her return to Asgard to wring her hands while waiting for someone else to save her family. The decision had been made, and she regained her feet to offer a hand to Asolf.

"You have served the All-Father well, Captain. Now, you should take your rest and see your injuries properly treated."

"I would like to say, Your Majesty."

"Asolf, that's a lovely sentiment, but it's foolish to continue punishing your body. Return to Asgard where physicians will diligently attend you."

"I would like to stay, Your Majesty," he repeated, dark eyes lifting in search of hers.

"Can you keep up without slowing us down? We will be moving at speed in a desperate bid to reach the All-Father before they can ensconce themselves in the enemy's fortress."

"Your Majesty, I was the ranking officer when the All-Father was taken. May all the millennia of my life be made worthless and brought to ruin if I slow you down. I will keep up."

Frigga's hand settled on his shoulder when she read the urgency and sincerity in his expression. He would keep up. He would fight twice as hard as every other soldier she'd brought with her to regain his sense of honor and duty and prove himself to the All-Father once again. She nodded and said, "Then you will stay, and my husband will know your great worth."

"Your Majesty," Sigurn began with disapproval in his tone.

"Sigurn," she returned with an equal amount of disapproval.

"General," intoned the captain.

"Tracks, Your Majesty!" shouted one of the other soldiers.

Immediately forgetting the building tension, she dashed over to the informant, crouching beside him when he indicated prints impressed into partially-dried blood. There were two sets of prints left behind by small feet, their spacing an indication of short legs and a smaller stature than the bodies surrounding them. No dark elf or adult Asgardian had left them behind, and they weren't followed or surrounded by the scuffle of adult-sized prints.

A breath whooshed from her lungs, something closer to relief melting the tension in her shoulders. "They belong to the princes. My sons haven't been captured by dark elves." Or at least freedom had still been theirs when said prints had been made.

* * *

"Drink, Brother," Thor said quietly.

Loki's glance followed the path of his brother's arm to find a tiny pool of water in a depression of rock. Svartalfheim was parched. After several hours of trekking through the mountains, this was the first hint of water he'd noticed, so he dropped to his knees and very carefully arranged himself to be able to suck water up with his lips rather than wasting the precious liquid by attempting to scoop it into his mouth.

"You can have the rest," he said weakly after righting himself, bottom lip wobbling again from the constant, terrible ache in his forearm.

"No, I already had some earlier, so I'm not thirsty anymore."

Rather than thinking to question his brother's comment, he rolled back onto his stomach to slurp up the remaining water. Not even several mouthfuls could truly quench his thirst. Upon righting himself, he dragged his knees up to this chest, dropping his cheek onto his upturned knees, at which point, he couldn't stop shivering. Whatever happened, he wasn't going to offer complaint. It wasn't Thor's fault he'd stupidly allowed the enemy to break his arm. If he were as accomplished as his older brother, he would have been able to prevent it from happening.

"Do you think we're going to find Father?" he asked.

"Of course we are. These dark elves are no match for the mighty Thor."

Pain and exhaustion were too overwhelming for him to summon even the most remote amount of irritation at his brother's self-titled nickname. Instead, a miserable expression was turned toward Thor out of some base need for his big brother to tell him everything would be fine. Surely that would be true coming from Thor's mouth, Thor who was so strong and so much bigger than himself. The elder Odinson finally took pity on him and seated himself close enough to wind an arm around the younger Odinson's shoulders. That was all the encouragement needed for him to snuggle close and press his face against Thor's chest.

"Everything will be fine. We'll find Father, and he'll get us back to the portal. I'm more worried about how much Mama's going to tan our backsides for getting into trouble again."

"You can tell her it's my fault," he muttered.

"That's stupid. Who decided to rescue Father and came up with the strategy to accomplish that? Me, so I'm the one who should be punished."

Being so miserable, there wasn't even a moment of pride in realizing he'd manipulated Thor so subtly his brother really did believe he was responsible for the whole fiasco. Letting his brother take all the punishment when the time came, though, wouldn't be very brotherly of him, so he would step up and shoulder some of the responsibility.

"Stop being silly," Loki commented. "Mama won't punish me too badly when she finds out my arm's broken, so if I take all the blame, you'll get out of sitting in the corner again."

"What makes you think I want to get out of sitting in the corner? You're hurt, and we're stuck in Svartalfheim. I deserve every ounce of punishment coming my way for getting you involved in this in the first place."

"Thor, this was my idea."

"Pain is making you talk nonsense."

"No, it was _my _idea all along. I just presented it subtly enough you latched onto the idea and put the pieces together."

Thor huffed as though terribly offended by the notion, saying, "You give yourself too much credit, Brother. I am not so easily manipulated as you seem to think."

"That doesn't change the fact, that…"

Perched on the boulder and comment halting in mid-sentence, he froze upon hearing the scuffling of loose rocks crunching underfoot from just around the bend. Walls of rock flanked two sides of the narrow pathway the elder Odinson had been leading them down in an attempt to stay off the main path heading into the east. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach, and both brothers scrambled to their feet in preparation for meeting whatever enemy came around the bend. There were a number of enemies by the sound of things, low voices speaking in that guttural language they'd heard on the nexus portal's cliff.

Breath whooshed into his lungs, causing him to flinch when his brother's hand curled around his arm. Voices pausing as though their presence had been revealed drove them into a sprint in an all-out bid to stay ahead of the enemy, but disaster struck. A rock turned out from under his foot, sending Loki to the ground where he landed heavily on his broken arm. There was no swallowing back the full-throated yelp. Action froze. Waves of pain rolled through his body and dimmed his consciousness, blurring his vision to such an extent he really thought he was going to be sick right there on the valley floor. Blood pounded in his ears.

So thoroughly overwhelmed was he that he was unable to immediately rise and resume the sprint, and by the time he was capable of making his body obey the command, dark elves were catching sight of them. He curled himself around to catch sight of the enemy, blanching as six of the beasts rounded the bend and rushed their position. There were far too many for Thor to hold back. There were far too many for any _adult _Asgardian to single-handedly defeat, and they were just untrained and untried children.

Thor planted himself in front of his younger brother, Musilnir held at the ready as though his brother were attempting to make himself appear as big and as threatening as possible, a laughable cause considering there were six dark elves slavering over the possibility of eating their livers. Apparently livers ripped from a body with a still-beating heart was some sort of delicacy for their kind, so it was entirely possible that would be their fate.

They certainly appeared to be beings bred solely to eat and make violence. The smell of unwashed bodies was so strong as to be nearly overpowering. Dark elves couldn't be considered giants, but each beast stood upwards of six feet tall and were covered in varying shades of leathery skin ranging from the deepest black to the blue of an unclouded sky. Their eyes were unnaturally large for the size of their heads to allow for the most light absorption possible, which told Loki they were capable of seeing fine detail despite the gloom of their atmosphere. Their arms were disproportionately longer than their torsos, but they were packed with enough muscle to keep their appearance from being considered gangly. Attempting to fend off a horde of dark elves with a sword that couldn't even cleave them in two would be a mistake.

Larger and with a honed predatory grace, the lead dark elf pushed through the group, lowering himself onto his haunches in order to bring himself eye-level. "Certain, you are these are the children of Odin?"

Loki immediately recognized another elf that pushed its way through to the forefront as one of the two who had fallen over the cliff. Its nostrils flared, head cocking and drawing closer to Thor to breathe in his scent. "Certain, I am. A great prize will the children of our enemy make. Pleased, Father will be to eat their livers before the All-Father."

"Musilnir will cave your skulls before you come close enough to touch us," Thor intoned, his voice even and calm despite the growing danger of the situation.

A rasping chuckle escaped the leader's throat. "Feisty, they are. Malekith, into custody you will take them. Bind their hands, you will. Present them before Scourge of Worlds, your honor will be." His tone became slightly more amiable when he glanced back at the children. "Take you to your father, we will. Our prisoner, is Odin All-Father."

Nausea rolled through his belly when his brain caught up with the conversation. Father had fallen into enemy hands, and they would be brought before the Scourge of Worlds where their livers would be eaten while their hearts still beat. Father would have to bear witness to their deaths. Trouble was, there wasn't anything he could do to prevent it with his body wracked by pain as it was, and Thor was simply too young and too ill-equipped to make up the difference.

Apparently even Thor had calculated the odds of their victory and come up with the inevitable: No matter how hard they fought, they would still be overpowered, taken into custody, and wind up smack dab before their father's enemy. In the end, it was better to go peacefully and save their strength in odd happenstance Father would be able to gain their freedom once he knew just how desperate the situation was.

"Silly, this weapon is," Malekith hissed while yanking Musilnir from Thor's grasp. "Think a wooden sword could stand against the might of the dark elves, did you?"

"One day, I will come back to Svartalfheim, and you will squeal for mercy," his brother returned in a much braver tone than Loki would have been able to muster.

The younger Odinson could only look on in horror as Malekith, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest, snapped Musilnir in half with the same ease as biting into cake. Thor flinched, lips parting slightly in a sharp gasp, eyes widening in what Loki could only describe as fear. Just like that, Thor's power had been broken. Seeing his brother's wooden sword so easily circumvented was like watching Thor himself being broken in half, and tears immediately sprang to his eyes.

Sudden movement registered before a stinky dark elf hoisted him over an armor-covered shoulder. A gasp couldn't be restrained no matter how brave he tried to be. What hurt worse was the haunted expression on Thor's face that prevented him from even putting up a small struggle when his hands were bound. He was quickly flung into a similar position before the group as a whole loped from the area with all haste. They were back to speaking that guttural language again, so Loki couldn't translate what was being said nor determine if there really was some sort of warning being bandied about as the tone of their voices led him to believe.

Riding slung over the shoulder of an enemy couldn't be misconstrued at all as being comfortable over the course of the next hour. His stomach was continually jammed by the crude plate armor covering the elf's shoulder until a knot of cramps settled so deeply in his belly he swore each step would make him heave. The beast's ragged nails pinched the backs of his thighs, dug firmly into his flesh, and raked at him to such an extent welts would be inevitable. No doubt, the thing would delight in inducing so much misery, so whining about it would have been pointless, the only result of which would be the added misery placed on Thor's shoulders for not having protected them from capture.

Unfortunately, he was so uncomfortable and had so much blood rushing to his head he couldn't study their surroundings to determine in which direction they were taken. The ground beneath them was barren and rocky, parched so dry of moisture each footstep produced a plume of dust rising around them. Even the rocks seemed wail for pity to be taken upon them in the form of rain. Cobwebs stretched across every crevice. Thin filaments of webbing dangled from the higher cliffs around them. Surely this was the most desolate place to be found in all the nine realms, an inhospitable country fit only for the basest mongrels to have ever been bred.

His head was swimming so that he wasn't entirely certain when they stopped. They were just suddenly not moving anymore, and it was a fight to concentrate on their surroundings in order to perceive a number of voices chattering around them. There was excitement in their tones. Some were shouting. Some were outright laughing. And then there were hands upon his body, shaking him and pinching him, and he even felt teeth grinding against his calf as though one of them attempted to gnaw on his flesh as guttural speech rose in cadence and volume until some seemed caught in a strange frenzy.

"Take your hands off my brother!" Thor shouted.

"Thor? Loki?"

The sound of their father's voice was unmistakable. Despite being a captive, the authority and power found there immediately forestalled the dark elves' revelry.

"Father," Loki warbled, caught somewhere between a sob and a shout of relief. Why he should be relieved was a mystery considering they were still captives of the enemy.

"Papa, we're here to rescue you."

Rough hands clasped hold of his hips, causing revulsion to boil through his veins when a dark elf lifted him down. Weight caused his knees to buckle, and he landed on his backside with a hard grunt followed by the pinching of his expression when the jarring caused pain to flare through his arm. Several seconds were required for his wits to return, at which point, he shuffled around until able to clasp eyes on his father. The All-Father wasn't restrained. Neither was he wearing his helmet or metal eye-covering, but Loki had seen his father without the patch before. Gazing into the empty eye socket wasn't as disturbing as it might otherwise have been.

Leery, and seemingly uncertain about whether they controlled the All-Father or he controlled them, the dark elves moved back a respectful distance, an action that caused Thor to race in their father's direction. The elder Odinson flung his arms around Father's torso to press his face into the metal of Odin's breastplate where Loki knew there to be safety and the kind of reassurance only a potent man like Odin could cause in his sons. Seeing Thor, who rarely gave vent to fits of uncertainty, shuddering forcefully against their father's solid body caused Loki's bottom lip to go wobbly.

"Come, Loki, and show me what you've managed to do to yourself," said Father. Dropping down into a crouch, their father offered his other arm.

That was all it took. Making a distressed trill in the back of his throat, he scrambled up with a plume of dust and flung himself into their sire's embrace. Father's strong arm catching him and pulling him in tight was the only reason further abuse to his injured arm was prevented. Nothing could ever feel as right as burying his face in Father's hair; nothing more comforting possibly existed. Tears wet his cheeks again.

"Hush, my boys," Odin whispered quietly.

Dislodging the Odinson boys seemed impossible, as they were clinging to their father with a strength born of the certainty something dreadful would happen if they allowed themselves to be separated from the inherent power of his body. Crawling into his pores, becoming a central part of him, seemed the only plausible solution when it came to restoring their sense of wonder and curiosity in the world. So long minutes passed while father cradled shivering sons in an attempt to make them feel safe again.

The desire to huddle against him for the rest of eternity ended in disappointment when Odin eased back from his children, palms settling on a shoulder of each son before saying, "What are you doing here? How did you get here? Does your mother know you've run off again?"

Snuffling back the snot of his running nose, Loki lifted tear-swollen eyes in his father's direction and responded, "It's my fault. Mother was crying because Balder accidentally woke up Durindel and almost died, so I thought bringing you home would make her happy again."

"It's not, Papa. The blame is mine. Waking the winged beast to fly us to the top of the floating tower so we could break inside and take the portal to Svartalfheim was my idea. I'm the one responsible, and I'm the one who should be punished," said Thor.

Father blinked, expression remaining impassive before repeating, "Balder woke Durindel and was taken on a wild flight, your mother was weeping due to the stress of seeing her youngest in such a precarious position, and the two of you snuck off to Svartalfheim by way of also waking the Pegasus?"

When stated like that, Loki had no choice but to hang his head in absolute shame for his behavior. Being grounded for a century would be light punishment compared to the precarious position they'd placed themselves in, so he nodded. "Father, awakening Durindel in order to fly to the top of the tower wasn't really Thor's idea at all. The fault is mine. I merely presented it in such a manner, he would think it was his."

"That's not how it happened at all," complained Thor, the elder Odinson's eyes equally as swollen after their reunion with their father. "All Loki did was logically assume that if we had wings, we wouldn't need the transport point from the Rainbow Bridge into the tower."

"Boys," Odin interrupted with a stern tone. "We will talk about this when all three of us are safely returned to Asgard. What happened to my middle child?"

His bottom lip was worried between his teeth when Father barely touched the arm still tucked in Thor's makeshift sling. "Three of those things were waiting for us when we arrived. One grabbed me and twisted so hard my arm broke. Thor's temple was cut open."

"We should get him home, Father, so the physicians can make his arm straight before the bone heals," Thor said with all the authority and sincerity of an adult.

"You leave that to me, my sons, and when we've secured our freedom, the three of us will have a great deal of explaining to do to your mother before she allows us back into the comfort of her good graces."

Loki wormed closer to Father's comfort, tired eyes-the hour had to be closer to midnight back on Asgard, far later than a sleepy seven-year-old's bedtime-searching the makeshift camp. Dark elves were lounging around without the benefit of firelight engaging in whatever amusements stinky dark elves were partial to. He counted fifteen. Father was the strongest person in the nine realms, but how could even the All-Father defeat fifteen dark elves? Whilst searching for anything that might be of interest, he clapped eyes on a copper box that was covered in old runic writing. Their father's spear was resting nearby. Somehow, it looked limp and lifeless, as though it had lost some of its aura of power since entering Svartalfheim. A tiny jolt of electricity arched between the two.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Tracking the number of hours that had elapsed since transporting to Svartalfheim was impossible. There seemed to be no changing of the light, no night nor day with which to chart the passage of time, so Frigga was becoming increasingly concerned the longer they marched without catching the fleeing dark elves. Moving ever eastward assured her they were making progress, but progress wasn't enough when catching them before they arrived at the Scourge of Worlds' lair was so paramount. If they managed to ensconce themselves inside, retrieving Odin would become beyond difficult.

Then there were her young sons to consider. She'd chosen to follow Odin instead of looking for them directly with the belief they would be tracking their father, but she'd come upon no signs of Thor and Loki since finding their footprints earlier in the journey. Surely they would have overtaken her sons by this point. Her only comfort was in the possibility that Thor, realizing the desperateness of their situation, led them in a more circuitous route rather than taking the main road as General Sigurn had convinced her to do.

"Your Majesty…"

She interrupted by saying, "General Sigurn, if you're going to suggest we turn back, then I recommend you hold your silence."

"Whatever I have done to cause Your Majesty to have so little faith in my loyalty to Asgard and the All-Father, tell me what I can do to recant said action. Finding the All-Father is the most important thing I will ever do."

"I'm sorry," she said, her apology accompanied by a long sigh. "Please, forgive me for being so uncharitable in my speech to you. Believe that my harsh and swift words were born of the worry overwhelming my mind."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Sigurn looked as though he would reach for her, as though he would attempt to lay hands upon her and somehow offer comfort, but in the end, the man's hand dropped back to his side without making contact. "None of us can even begin to imagine the desperateness of your thoughts."

The queen of Asgard didn't bandy about her personal desires or emotions. Venting her fears to General Sigurn would be unseemly, so her hands remained calmly poised on the hilt of her weapon, her expression steadily fixed upon some point in the distance despite the throbbing pain pulsing in her temples. Her body simply couldn't heal so much tension. By the time information was sent to decrease the blood flow through her veins, a fresh thought would pop into her mind and increase the rush of blood again, creating an endless loop cycling fear and adrenaline through her tense frame.

"We will find them, Your Majesty. Please believe none of us will rest until the All-Father and your sons are home safely."

"I believe that, General."

Believing him, however, didn't alleviate the endless cramp seizing her belly. In fact, Frigga was nearing the breaking point when Audun, the general's second, returned from his scouting foray, prompting her to surge to her feet in anticipation. They were desperately trying to get someone near enough to clasp eyes on the All-Father, but the dark elves had been moving at speed, their bodies acclimated to the thin air that was slowing the Asgardians' pursuit.

"Your Majesty," Audun began while dropping to his knee and pressing a fist to his shoulder. "My eyes have seen the All-Father and your sons."

Relief drained color from her face, and she was forced to grip Sigurn's shoulder when her knees threatened to turn traitor and refuse to accept weight. Such news rendered her speechless and unable to clearly process speech for a few moments.

"Tell us the situation," command Sigurn.

"Over the next rise, the road turns sharply eastward and then drops into a canyon. The dark elves have positioned themselves in the middle of the bend to give them clear view toward the east and any approach from the north. The All-Father, though they have divested him of is helmet, appears unharmed and has been allowed physical contact with the princes. They are sleeping beside him."

"Then we must take them surprise, climb higher into the mountains and come down at them from the west or the south," Frigga finally commented. "Audun, I charge you with one task, and let this be the main focus of your concern no matter what happens during the battle, protect the All-Father and my sons. When the battle begins, you will make your way to stand beside them and allow them an opportunity for swift retreat."

"May all the millennia of my life be made worthless should I fail you, Your Majesty."

"Did you see a copper box?" Asolf, who had managed to keep pace with them, asked.

Audun's expression turned inward as though searching his memory before saying, "Yes. There was a copper a box situated nearest the largest of the dark elves. Gungnir rested beside it some distance from the All-Father's grasp."

"'Tis the device I spoke of, the one somehow capable of muzzling Gungnir's power and is the sole reason they won the battle.," explained Asolf.

"Then we must separate Gungnir from the box," Sigurn said.

Frigga interrupted, "Leave the device to me. We know nothing about its true capabilities, so stay clear of it until I have rendered the machine inactive." Being adept at molding the layer of energy commonly called magic meant she stood the greatest chance of shutting the device down without causing it to explode, and if the device was so sensitive it did explode, at least her body would take the full brunt of the impact and give them the opportunity to take her family safely home. Sacrificing her body for their safety was no great decision.

"Do everything you can to prevent any of the dark elves from fleeing eastward. There must be enough time for us to make haste back to the portal before the Scourge of Worlds becomes involved," Sigurn instructed.

"None will make it past me to flee into the east," responded Asolf.

A hand pressed over her heart, and she glanced at each man in turn, searching the faces of the eleven volunteers who were the best of her husband's army. "Asgard is strong because of men like you. Asgard is the light to which the nine realms turn their faces after a long winter. Asgard is the Realm Eternal, and you are the foundation upon whom she builds her greatness. May you all return to the comfort of your homes at the end of this long march, and barring that, may you die a warrior's death and find comfort in the halls of Valhalla."

Her voice was soft and earnest, her expression compelling and certain as she looked again at each man in turn, her reassurance so vastly different from that of her husband. Odin commanded their attention with the strength of his voice and the solid, unchanging certainty that Asgard had always been and would always be in the future. She commanded their attention by the quietness of her resolve, and they listened, eleven men focused on her rather than the direness of their situation. They would win the day if for no other reason than because she willed it so.

Into the wild mountains of Svartalfheim they plunged. The land was so parched not even a scraggly plant could find enough moisture to eek out an existence in the shadows of the mountain. Long years of drought were common in the realm and usually came in cycles of seven. Seven years without rain would be followed by seven years of monsoon in which the land became so swollen with water its inhabitants were forced to the highest peaks of the highest mountains to stay dry, and in between, there might exist a few months of plenty. Obviously, Svartalfheim was nearing the end of a period of drought.

She paused only briefly when their passage disturbed a nest of Thurien, large bat-like creatures seemingly stuck in a point of evolution that prevented them from making the leap to full-fledged humanoid but refused to allow them to regress into their previous incarnation. The creatures, each standing no more than five feet tall but no less than three feet, spooked and flew from their rock overhang with ear-piercing shrieks of sound that made Frigga flatten herself against the rock face and press her hands over her ears. Teeth ached for ten minutes afterwards from the sharp squeal of sound, and they came close to losing Asolf, whose grip on the rock face wasn't as strong as the others. One of his comrades prevented him from completely losing his grip and helped him anchor himself again.

Not a word of complaint passed her lips during the hurried hour spent scrambling through the mountains, focused so intently on her husband and children complaining would have been sacrilegious. She kept up. Her nails were split and ragged by the end, her fingertips constantly healing from gouges while clawing at rock to find suitable purchase to drag herself up another half-dozen feet, but she kept up, breathing calm and even by the time they reached a high enough plateau to look down upon the dark elf encampment.

Audun had reported the situation accurately. Tears sprang to her eyes despite her best efforts upon clapping eyes on her husband and young sons. The boys were huddled against him for protection and warmth, and he was vigilant in making sure none of the dark elves drew close enough to touch or startle them. Asgardian law allowed for many acceptable instances of divorce; when a couple was so long lived maintaining a marriage to the same person for thousands of years could be difficult, but not for one millisecond of one day had she ever not wanted to be married to Odin Borrson. Looking upon him made her heart ache. One smile from him and every care in the world seemed to melt into nothingness even after so many long eons as his wife. Resolve tightened her belly.

She was just priding herself on her calmness when Frigga noticed the makeshift sling cradling Loki's arm. Rage, hot and unforgiving, rose up to block her windpipe with a knot of emotion. Breathing became difficult. Remaining poised on the precarious perch she'd found seemed impossible when her only desire, the only action that would prevent the heat of anger from making her come apart at the seams, was to rush into the midst of the dark elf encampment and exact retribution for her middle son. They had hurt one of her children, and it was unforgivable. Her palm curled around the handle of Frey's sword.

Just as soon as the urge to move became impossible to ignore, Sigurn settled a hand on her forearm to attract her attention.

Flinching at the sudden touch, she jerked her glance over to him only to realize she'd succeeded in pulling her sword from its sheath without having realized her actions. A breath rushed into her lungs and brought enough focus to realize he was pointing to his eye and glancing over the edge of the cliff, prompting her to follow his gaze. Audun was silently dropping over the edge, landing soundlessly in a crouch on a large boulder only to leap from that point to a lower point without making a single sound. Right, she couldn't give away his position by flinging herself over the edge of the cliff and attacking. He needed to gain a strategic point of contact that would allow him to protect Odin and the boys when the main battle began.

Another breath resulted in enough calm the red haze was leaving her eyes. Her son had been injured, but he was still alive. Engaging the battle before they were ready could result in her family being injured. Calm. Grace. Poise. They returned in slow measures, allowing her to take note of Asolf and two others swinging east around an outcropping of stone. There was one terrifying moment when one of the men dislodged rock and sent a small shower of pebbles skittering down the cliff. All three men froze.

Tension whipped her tight again when two dark elves on sentry duty glanced upward. Their larger eyes allowed for the maximum absorption of light, giving them crystal clear sight even in the dark gloom that seemed constant in Svartalfheim. She was certain they'd been spotted. Surely the dark elves would see the three men tucked away inside crevices or crouching behind boulders, but the enemy didn't call out a warning to wake their comrades. They shuffled around and continued tossing a cup of bones.

Agonizing minutes passed before the men resumed their journey, and Frigga lost sight of them as they rounded an outcropping of mountain to the east where they were no doubt positioning themselves to cut off the enemy's escape toward their homeland. Her glance darted down to Audun, who was finally putting himself in position behind several large boulders at the edge of camp. From his position, he would be able to leap the boulders and put himself between Odin and the enemy at a moment's notice.

Finally, her glance rounded on Sigurn in search of permission to begin the battle. The general, his wiry body less dominating than someone the size of Odin, winked at her before rolling over the side of the cliff and dropping into a crouch on one of the outcroppings Audun had used to make his way into the valley. A smile curved her lips as the others followed the general, eight Asgardians moving with the grace of stalking predators. Sigurn's inclination to organize the attack rather than trusting in their brute strength to take down an enemy should be praised. She would make sure just reward would be given upon their return to Asgard.

But there wasn't a ghost of a chance the queen of Asgard would be caught monkeying down the side of a mountain regardless of how accomplished her physical conditioning was or the number of years she'd spent under the sword master's tutelage. Rising to her feet, the river of crimson that was her cape sweeping around her ankles as she moved, she stepped off the edge of the cliff. Her fingers twisted as she molded magic to form a solid barrier under her feet, tightening the molecules until it looked as if she descended a set of invisible stairs. The last few feet were accomplished by contracting and releasing the molecules, which slowly floated her to the ground, a small plume of dust rising when her feet touched the floor of the valley.

"Your first mistake," Frigga began when she stepped openly and boldly into the dark elf camp, "was luring my husband into Svartalfheim in the hope you would overpower him."

Dark elves immediately rushed to attention, the sentries charging her position while the others tried to shake off the grogginess of sleep.

Another twist of her fingers conjured a thin-bladed knife, a flick of her wrist arching the blade toward the onrushing dark elves. One was caught in the throat, and she whipped her sword from its sheath, the Norn Stones pulsing with gentle light as she activated their innate powers to form a glistening shield around her body.

"Your second mistake was placing hands upon my sons, and it is for this crime you will face the ultimate punishment."

Frigga side-stepped at the last possible second, allowing the dark elf's momentum to carry it past her while she moved with the grace afforded her after two and a half thousand years of life, bringing Frey's sword slashing as she spun to build momentum, the length of the blade lacerating flesh and bone when it impacted against the dark elf's back to send the beast, howling with pain, falling into the dust and rock beneath their feet.

"Cut off its head, Mama!" Thor shouted with all the excitement of a child on the eve of Giving Day when all of Asgard celebrated family and friends by giving gifts to those most important to them.

Yanking her sword free, she brought it down to cleave the dark elf's head from its shoulders. A moment of hollow silence followed when she turned in profile with the gathering horde to bring them into her peripheral vision, able to see her husband, now on his feet and looking mildly amused by something, and sons on the other side of her body.

"Your third mistake," she drawled while pulling herself back into the defensive stance most comfortable to herself, "was choosing the family of Frigga Borrson, queen of Asgard, to hold hostage in the hopes of overthrowing the Realm Eternal. Look upon your fate and fear me."

Odin laughed. Despite the situation they were in and the dire threat facing their sons, he laughed and said, "Always one for the melodramatic, my dear."

Her husband received a wink before she surged into movement, another conjured knife hurtling toward the enemy to drop a dark elf by burying in its eye socket, and then the battlefield was consumed with chaos as Sigurn engaged the dark elves with the rest of the Asgardians, leading them onto the field in a sharp attack that dropped a number of dark elves at once.

The battle seemed as though it would be short-lived. Asgardians, desperate to secure their king and young princes, were fighting with the fervor necessary to drop their enemy one at a time in overwhelming numbers. There were only fifteen dark elves brought to battle, and though they recovered from the shock of the sudden attack and began to resist being cut down, fighting back with the overwhelming strength of their species that allowed them to break dense Asgardian bone using nothing but a punishing grip, they simply wouldn't last long under the onslaught.

Frigga was on her way to collect the copper box and deactivate it in order to render Gungnir effective again when a loud blast of sound stopped her in her tracks. Asolf and the two others sent with him to cut off any escape to the east were hurled into the midst of combat, their bodies broken and twisted when they landed near to her feet. Seeing their sightless eyes staring up toward the sky delivered the first jolt of fear spearing her belly.

"Come, Father has!" shouted one of the dark elves gripping an Asgardian and in the process of trying to snap his neck.

The remaining elves shrieked in a piercing sound that wasn't quite so potent as the Thurien and clamored, beating fists against their chests in a rhythmic greeting to the dark elf who came around the bend to be presented in full view of the battle. They shouted and jumped, voices raising in chatter while those nearest the newest arrival prostrated themselves next to him and scrambled on all fours to kiss his feet.

He was tall, nearly seven feet she surmised from a first glance. His body was proportionately thin and wiry, a river of white hair cascading down his shoulders in a series of braids that nearly reached his waist. Indigo skin was covered in white tattoos that licked up over his collarbone and onto the side of his face where there existed a pair of large, startlingly blue eyes. He may even have been considered handsome. There was nothing inherently twisted, evil, or cruel about his face that would turn her away in abject fear of him, and when he reached down to pet the heads of those who came to kiss his feet, there was something even gentle about his expression. He loved his people the same way Odin loved every Asgardian.

The Scourge of Worlds.

His very presence on Midgard had caused such a plague that millions of humans had perished before it ran its course. He had set foot upon the soil of Jotunheim, and Laufey had bowed in respect. A foray into Alfheim had sent the light elves into such a state of terror at his presence they had begged the All-Father to tear apart the fabric of Svartalfheim by leaving the bifrost open and trained upon that realm.

Frigga flinched and nearly shouted when Odin's hand suddenly dropped onto her shoulder, and he said, "Frigga, take the boys and return to the portal by the fastest means possible. When you arrive, lock the portal down."

Seeing the potency of this dark elf made her bowels week, and she almost agreed in a desperate desire to get her sons as far away from the Scourge of Worlds as possible. In the end, however, she responded, "Not without you."

"Frigga…" There was clear warning in his tone that said he wouldn't tolerate subordination at the moment.

Her certainty wavered when she dared risk a glance away from the Scourge of Worlds and saw the open concern in Odin's expression. He believed their sons were in grave danger.

"All-Father, the situation, you must surely realize. Murdered my children, have you. Leave here alive, yours won't." There was something akin to grief in the dark elf's voice, a deep sadness making his large eyes watery as though he would shed tears at their loss. The Scourge of Worlds bent at the waist to touch the cheek of a fallen dark elf.

"You ordered an unprovoked invasion against Asgard and brought harm to my people. There is no reason for further bloodshed when we will only begin a cycle of feuding that will result in the deaths of hundreds."

"Considered an assault, is it when hungry people resort to desperate lengths to feed themselves and their loved ones?" He lifted his hands to indicate the general area. "Come have not, the rains for seven years. Starving, are my people while yours have plenty. Seek…" There was a quick pause… "we, relief from the terrible hunger of Svartalfheim."

"Seeking relief from hunger does not result in the death of an innocent Asgardian child, a blessing to her parents after three millennia of infertility. Had you wanted relief from hunger, you would have approached the golden throne of Asgard with offers of friendship and lawfulness rather than sneaking into our realm with thoughts of blood and violence."

Her husband was concerned: She could sense it in the tension of his body. He was afraid of this confrontation, uncertain he would come out the victor, so Frigga inched backwards, holding out her hands behind her back so her sons could clasp them with every intention of using every trick in her means to get them back to Asgard as Odin had commanded.

As soon as she felt a little palm in each hand, she began easing backwards only to be brought to an immediate halt when the Scourge of Worlds spoke, "Leave here alive, your sons won't. Their livers, I will eat from tiny bodies still alive with the beating of their hearts."

The dark elf's expression changed so swiftly, melting from calm and even approachable to vengeful and full of wrath, she couldn't backpedal fast enough. He was suddenly there, his fingers closing around her throat with such strength she swore her neck would be immediately snapped. Frigga drove her knee up between his legs, swept the sword of Frey in a vicious arch, and immediately punched the heel of her palm against his sternum, but his grip didn't loosen.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

A terrified shout was mustered when the Scourge of Worlds attacked Mother so swiftly and violently not even Father could place himself between them in time to prevent the assault. Mother, in an effort to maintain her balance, stepped backward to brace herself, choking sounds emanating when the dark elf's fingers closed around her throat, and when she took another step back, her bulk knocked Loki off balance. Saving himself would have meant grabbing onto her cape and perhaps upsetting her precarious stance, so he thumped onto the ground with a grunt from the further jarring of his arm. In an effort to avoid being stepped on, he rolled, his progress blocked upon coming up against dead Asgardians heaved into the area by the Scourge of Worlds.

Eyes widened. Terror pumped through his veins and caused his breathing to shorten when a shrieking dark elf skittered in his direction on all fours. Ragged teeth were bared, and there existed a wild frenzy in its overly large eyes. All he could do was scramble over the bodies in an effort to escape, but moving fast enough was impossible when the beast was so agile. He was certain he was done for when Thor, with a fierce shout accompanying his movements, ripped a sword from a dead man's sheath and hacked into the dark elf's back in a frighteningly realistic imitation of Mother felling the second enemy to attack her.

Surprise ripped another yelp from his lungs. His elder brother went around bragging about how he longed to cleave heads from bodies, but seeing him actually accomplish the feat-the length of his borrowed and very real sword tore easily through flesh and bone to split the dark elf's spine-sent a shudder through his belly. All the disbelief that had accompanied seeing Musilnir snapped like a twig returned ten-fold upon witnessing the restoration of Thor's power. Standing there with legs braced apart, both hands curled around the handle of the blade and a certain light in his eyes, Thor suddenly seemed as invincible as their father.

Apparently he had a lesson to learn about believing things invincible. An enemy suddenly leaped several twisted bodies and came down precariously with feet planted between Loki's outspread legs. The beast backhanded Thor with enough strength to send the larger boy careening against a broad boulder. Half a heartbeat later, the dark elf sprang into action to press its advantage by lunging toward Thor to slam its weight against the boy and press him harder against the rock, effectively pinning the elder Odinson. Gnarled fingers tangled in his hair. His head was yanked backward at an awkward angle, thrusting the throat forward until jugular strained against flesh, and it was there the beast's wild eyes focused, a string of spittle dripping from the corner of its mouth onto the elder Odinson's cheek.

Their violent change of circumstances dragged a yelp from Loki, who was momentarily paralyzed by witnessing his brother being so easily manhandled. Obviously sitting there like a ninny wasn't going to help Thor in the slightest. Desperate times and all that. He rolled and found himself skittering away from his parents' churning feet as they continued their struggle with the Scourge of Worlds and coming up against a dead dark elf, one of Mother's conjured knives sticking from its eye.

With a supreme sense of franticness, he ripped the knife from its eye socket and launched himself at Thor's attacker. The length of the blade buried through the back of its neck. There was a slight popping sensation as vertebrae were separated, and it was merely from watching Father and Thor hunt that he knew to pull the blade sideways to sever the spinal cord.

Thor's eyes were wide.

Loki stared at his hand, now splattered with black ooze, as he clutched the knife in his grip. He panted for breath. Hysteria threatened to bubble past his control, at which point, he would probably throw himself on the ground in a fit of sobbing tears and kicking heels as it settled over his brain that he'd just killed something. He'd never killed anything before in his life, but the dark elf lay dead at his feet.

Having his elder brother grab hold of his arm, however, snapped his focus back to the problem at hand, and he allowed Thor to drag him behind a nearby boulder where he had every intention of hunkering until their parents killed the Scourge of Worlds and they could go home. Better to stay out of the way where Mother and Father wouldn't worry about their safety.

"Loki, stay here. Keep your head down and don't move."

"What? Where are you going?" He latched hold of Thor's wrist, trying to implore his older brother with his eyes alone that Thor needed to stay put with him.

"I'm going to help Mama and Papa."

"Right," Loki began in a casual tone, "because you're going to be oh so useful helping them fight _that!_ Are you a completely brainless dunderhead?"

"Stop calling me a dunderhead!"

"Stop acting like one, and I'll stop calling you one!"

"Stop behaving like a sissy, and I'll stop acting like a dunderhead!"

"Stop being stupid, and you'll stop thinking I'm behaving like a sissy!"

"Stop telling me what to do, and I'll stop shouting!"

"Stop doing stupid things, and I'll stop telling you what to do!"

A dark elf, no doubt lured there by their shouting, came over the top of the boulder and locked its fingers in Loki's hair, yanking sharply to pull the younger boy away from his older brother where teeth immediately locked on his shoulder. Flailing was his immediate response, but before he could get a good enough grip on his knife, Thor was spearing his borrowed sword through the thing's face. Loki ended up dropping onto his backside.

"Stop shouting," Thor muttered breathlessly.

The elder Odinson risked a glance around the side of the boulder and said, "We need to get Papa his spear. If Papa had his spear, he'd be powerful enough to kill that stupid thing."

"Something about the box is reacting with Father's spear. There's little bits of energy arching between them like the box is eating Gungnir's power."

"If I got you close enough, do you think you could do that foldy thing Mama taught you where you manipulate magic? Could you shut it down and free Gungnir?"

He shrugged, pain pinching his expression at the added discomfort of teeth punctures irritating flesh. The little punctures were healing over rapidly, but having dark elf teeth grinding into his skin hadn't felt pleasant. "I don't know. Maybe."

Thor glanced around the boulder again before looking back to him. "You have to try. When I start running, I want you to stay right on my heels, okay? Don't look anywhere but at my back. Loki, don't pay attention to what's going on out there."

There was something desperate about Thor's voice, as though his older brother believed he would panic upon seeing the reality taking place outside their isolated hiding spot. Hadn't anyone ever explained that the mind was prone to creating worse scenarios than reality could ever conjure? So much screaming could only mean a nigh on hopeless battle was taking place, one their parents were rapidly losing control of. That alone made the pit of his belly gnaw, but hearing that same desperation in his brother's voice somehow made it all the worse. Finally, he nodded, swallowing heavily before reaching out with his good arm to grip his brother's shoulder. Green eyes so like their mother gazed at the elder Odinson with perfect trust and perfect faith. Thor would get them to Gungnir without either of them being hurt. He believed that with all the certainty of a younger brother who hero worshipped his older sibling.

When they bailed from behind the boulder, Loki staying right in Thor's wake, he realized why he'd been warned not to look in any direction but at Thor's back: Father had been flung to the ground, and Mother was desperately trying to fend the Scourge of Worlds off and afford their father a chance to rise unencumbered. Two others-there were precious few Asgardians still capable of fighting-were rushing toward Mother to give aide, but he wasn't certain the Asgardians would win. The beast was so powerful.

Teeth ached from the sound of pebbles crunching beneath his feet when he skidded to a halt next to Gungnir and the copper box it was lying beside, going down on his knees to flatten both palms over the surface of the box in an effort to get a sense of what it was and what was taking place inside. Several hurried breaths panted from his lungs. The chaos of battle taking place behind them made his mind seem scattered, made focusing on the box more difficult regardless of Thor planting himself nearby with sword held at the ready and feet braced apart to give him a better center of balance just like their combat instructor drilled into their heads.

His brow furrowed as he began folding energy and pressing it down into the molecules of the box. The runic writing he'd seen earlier was called the Old Futhark, which had been common in the earliest days of Asgard and passed on to the mortals of Midgard as a rudimentary system of writing. He knew enough of the Old Futhark to translate the gist of what the writing tried to convey. The box had been made from the sarcophagus of an elder god who'd tired of existence and willed himself into the long sleep of death, a container designed to keep the innate power that refused to leave the body of an elder god from leeching into the universe. Something had obviously absorbed the elder god's power and created the box to consume other strong energies in the vicinity.

"Well, can you turn it off and make Gungnir effective again?" Thor asked, undeniable urgency dripping from his tone and making the air tense.

"The box works like a magnet, and the spear's power is the metal that's magnetizing toward it. This thing is…fascinating."

"Fascinating? We're in the middle of Svartalfheim being threatened with becoming entrees to the Scourge of Worlds! I don't care if it's a magical box that grants a mountain of cookies whenever asked. Can you turn it off or not?"

His eyes narrowed when he glanced up at Thor momentarily. Magic must be too natural a power for the box to be concerned with. After all, magic wasn't dangerous without someone who knew how to manipulate it, so he was able to press energy through the box's molecules, the copper heating beneath his palms to an uncomfortable level. Obviously, whomever had absorbed the elder god and created the box wouldn't want it constantly absorbing his own energy, so there had to be a way to turn off the magnetic property.

A body suddenly went sailing over their heads to thump against solid rock, resulting in a yelp and hands skittishly being pulled from the box's surface. Sigurn, their father's highest ranked military officer, was fighting desperately to get to his feet, but something was broken that prevented his legs from responding to silent commands for movement. The cadence of his breathing increased with Sigurn's rising note of panic.

"Brother, you have to do this," Thor intoned, a hand suddenly dropping to the younger Odinson's shoulder as though attempting to offer a measure of comfort.

"I…"

Thor interrupted, his tone even, "Brother, you must finish."

Eyes squeezed closed. He curled his hands into fists whilst attempting to ignore the chaos swirling around them, a difficult prospect when there was so much pain and desperation making the air tense. Their parents were depending on him. Forcing his fingers to uncurl, Loki pressed his palms once again in contact with the copper. Despite the rapid heating beneath his palms, magic was folded and refolded, twisted and pulled at different angles in an effort to determine, like a puzzle in which the pieces would only fit one way, where the energy best fit. Tears beaded on the rim of his eyes. A short whimper of distress accompanied pain when his palms went beyond the point of discomfort. Then suddenly, the magic sank into place. A soft whirring sound indicated the box was powering down, and that steady stream of lightning arching between Gungnir and the box stopped. Static crackled in the air uncontrollably before dissipating, and a long breath released from his lungs.

"Go," Loki whispered, tears gathering in his eyes again when he peeled his hands from the box's surface and left bits of skin behind.

His shoulder was given a firm squeeze before Thor snatched up their father's spear and went careening from the area, streaking toward the struggling forms of Father and Mother, who had finally been able to pin the Scourge of Worlds between them. Given the stress of the situation, Loki had no intention of allowing Thor to cajole him when his head started spinning. All the pain and uncertainty coalesced in a faint.

* * *

The situation was quickly spiraling toward tragic, Frigga realized. Odin and she had managed to flank the Scourge of Worlds to keep him focused solely on them, but her strength would give out long before that of their enemy, leaving her husband alone to battle against the creature. Cutting him didn't seem effective. Breaking bones wasn't possible. Not even magic could grant her the insight necessary to bring down this foe and save her family.

A hand cracked against her cheek and sent her spinning, an action that brought Odin rushing in to intercept the beast, effectively preventing it from using its advantage to end her existence. She shook her head in an attempt to clear herself of cobwebs. Pressing a hand against her cheek like that would cool the heat of pain, she rolled to her stomach in preparation for rising again. And then a miracle happened. Her brave boy came rushing in their direction holding Gungnir aloft, a weapon forged from the body of a dying elder god by the hand of her husband after he'd absorbed the powers of his father and uncles.

"Father!" Thor shouted.

Gungnir was hurled in Odin's direction, and as it sailed toward her husband's hand, she came up, punching Frey's sword against the beast's side. Steel didn't penetrate its skin, but the Scourge of Worlds was momentarily distracted, his fist cracking against her cheek hard enough the bone fractured and leaving an icy chill spreading through her body. A terrible shout escaped past the limits of her control, and when she fell, her eldest was suddenly there to watch her about the waist where he lowered her gently to the ground.

Churning feet nearly trampled them both they were so exposed, so Frigga managed to collect enough of her wits to curl an arm around Thor's waist and pull them both farther away from battle using her elbow and the sides of her legs to scuffle across the ground. Staying out of Odin's way was important now.

The heat of Gungnir's first blast made the air crackle and seem unbearably hot, so she curled her body around Thor's to protect her eldest, frantically darting her glance around the battlefield to find her middle son, whom she located slumped over the copper box responsible for muzzling Gungnir. Her boys. Her brave, resourceful, intelligent boys.

She clutched Thor against her bosom when a terrible shriek threatened to bring the mountains down around them. That sense of static culminated in the air. The butt of Gungnir's shaft cracked against the ground with a sharp rapport, and then there was silence; deafening, absolute, impenetrable silence.

Odin All-Father had brought the dark elves to heel.

Motherly instincts wanted to hide there in the veil of silence, to shelter her boys from the terrible reality accompanying their situation. Men had died. Asolf, who had so bravely volunteered to accompany them instead of returning to Asgard as he should have, had been broken beyond repair. Those who weren't dead bore serious wounds in immediate need of the kind of care only found in the Healing Room. Slowly, sound bled through the silence. Men were moaning in pain. Dark elves whose injuries hadn't yet claimed their lives were wailing.

Thor was huddled wordlessly against her bosom making not a single sound and offering not a hint of protest at being coddled when logic followed that nine-year-old righteous indignation should exert itself and force Thor into labeling needing a mother's comfort as "being a baby." Hadn't he wailed precisely that when Loki had climbed upon her lap that morning? Her palm smoothed his golden hair.

"You're safe, my son. Thor, look at me." Se tucked her fingers under his chin to tilt his face toward her, at which point, she realized his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. "Look at me," she admonished softly.

Her eldest finally forced impossibly-blue eyes open to gaze up at her.

"You're safe, and I am so very proud of you."

"Mama," he said with a note of fear in his voice.

"Oh, my baby."

She crushed him against her bosom, lips pressing to the crown of his head as she held him as tightly as possible. The urge was there to absorb him into her pores, to somehow make them one body and one being where she would forever know he was safe. This child, hovering on the cusp of adolescence where he would stop wanting to be coddled and where his training and education would intensify, was more precious to her than her own life. Was it possible for any mother to send her children into the world without feeling supreme loss of control? She had to send him into a world where she couldn't protect him. That went against every motherly instinct.

"Frigga, we can't stay here," Odin intoned in a calm voice, the All-Father crouching beside wife and son in order to rest a hand on Frigga's upper arm.

They _couldn't _stay. The area was open. Her children would be exposed to any dark elf still roaming the area, and there were no doubt countless who'd been attracted by the sounds of battle. Killing the Scourge of Worlds might shock them into chaos for the time being, but they would reunify under the leadership of whichever dark elf was strong enough to make them obey. Trouble was, they couldn't go. There were too many with wounds so severe as to prevent them from making their own way, but how could they leave injured men behind?

She sat up slowly, a deep breath required to control the response elicited when her head pounded fiercely. Between her fractured cheekbone and stress, her body couldn't keep up with the headache making her think someone was shoving a hot firebrand through her temples. Thor, his bravery melting into a wobbling bottom lip, sat up beside her where he clung to her hand in silent refusal to let go.

"How are we meant to return to the portal area with so many wounded?" she asked while pinching the bridge of her nose as though that would help.

Odin didn't respond immediately. He padded over and eased Loki up against his chest, the child's legs instinctively winding around his father's waist, arms easing around his father's shoulders. One hand pressed against his son's head to cradle the boy in an easily recognizable action; the desire to protect such a small creature from all future harm.

"You will take the boys and return to Asgard. Upon your arrival, have a contingent of soldiers sent through the bifrost bearing supplies and physicians enough to see our wounded home safely. I will remain to ensure no harm comes to them."

"Surely dark elves will see us leaving and use our vulnerability as a means to attack, Husband. One woman and two children? Such makes an easy target for our enemies."

Her husband's glanced turned skyward.

Frigga followed his eye-line upward in time to see lightning streak overhead, storm clouds gathering and increasing the gloom of an already gloomy atmosphere. Rain surely wouldn't be far behind, and the dark elves would be too busy celebrating the arrival of the monsoons to pay attention to a woman and two children. Her fingers twisted to coalesce fog in the surrounding area, a heavy covering that would provide her and her children extra protection and afford the wounded a measure of security.

"Go quickly and quietly," Odin instructed while easing Loki into her arms, pausing to smooth tendrils of hair away from the lad's tear-stained face. It seemed impossible for such a potent man to be capable of such gentleness.

A bit of wiggling was required to settle her middle son against her hip in such a way as to be capable of drawing her sword if necessary. Oh how she hoped it wouldn't be. "Be safe, Husband. Your children have already been forced to rescue you once this day. Let's not incite them to further heroics, yes?"

A smile threatened to bend Odin's lips from their natural state of authority, and then he crouched in front of Thor to clasp his eldest's shoulders in each big palm. "Protect your mother and younger brother, Thor. Stay with them and do everything your mother tells you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father." Thor suddenly lurched forward to fling his arms around the All-Father's shoulders, squeezing the man's neck tightly. When he drew back, some of the confident slant of his carriage had been restored.

Odin retrieved the sword dropped from numbed fingers earlier, placed the handle in Thor's grip, and curled their son's fingers around it securely. "One day, you will be entrusted with a mighty weapon forged in the heart of a dying star, but I think we can safely start you with this, the sword so bravely wielded by Captain Asolf. Bear it wisely, my son."

"I will, Father. I promise I will," responded Thor while clutching the weapon against his chest as though he had every intention of fulfilling his father's request by henceforth sleeping with the weapon beside him in bed.

The inclination was there to roll her eyes, because Odin obviously had no clue how difficult prying the weapon from their sons hands would be when bath time and mealtime arrived. Thor would drag the sword around the palace slicing imaginary dark elves in half, but then she did harbor the secret desire her children would grow up to be physicians and lawyers rather than warriors bent on saving the nine realms. It was a foolish hope, she knew.

When her husband finally returned to his feet, he ever-so-gently grazed knuckles across her cheek, already beginning to bruise. "Take the fastest road and know that my heart goes with you and our sons. Queen of Asgard, how you make your husband proud."

"To the dust with such formalities," she muttered before grasping the front of his breastplate and pulling him forward until their lips met briefly. Neither was comfortable enough for a proper kiss. They were battered and bruised, but such an open display of affection spoke of the depths of her love for this man.

When they separated, she allowed her fingertips to linger on his cheek before turning. Thor's hand was clasped in hers. Her lips brushed Loki's head. Children gathered around her, Frigga headed down the road as the first fat drops of rain splattered around them. The journey would be made all the more miserable but all the safer for the storm's violent eruption.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Your Majesty," Iound exclaimed upon Frigga's return through the bifrost.

"Choose your next words carefully, my friend, because if you tell me Balder has awoken Durindel again and is currently soaring hundreds of feet in the air, I will scream these walls down around our heads."

Her handmaiden offered a sheepish smile before rushing forward to gather Loki, now wide-eyed and alert, against her bosom and said, "I was going to welcome you home, Your Majesty. Your youngest is safely ensconced in his bed in the royal apartment being looked after by his nanny. He's been fed, cosseted, and entertained during your absence."

Relief sagged her shoulders, and she stole a moment to hug Thor against her body. Her eldest had been a great comfort during the long trek back to the portal. He'd kept up a constant stream of chatter to distract Loki from the pain of his injuries and the fear of skulking through the gloom of Svartalfheim. For such a wild and confident boy, he could be surprisingly perceptive to his younger siblings' needs. How she hoped that would follow him into the future and grant him the ability to help Loki adjust to his real parentage when the time for revealing it came.

"Heimdall, attend me."

"What is your command, Your Majesty?" he asked while pulling his sword, the key to initiating and maintaining the link, from the bifrost controls.

"The All-Father requires soldiers, physicians, and provisions to be delivered to Svartalfheim as quickly as possible. He is standing guard over severely injured men in dire need of care. Could you see this done for me?"

"With all haste, my queen."

"Escort is waiting outside, Your Majesty," Iound said, sweeping her hand toward the observatory's door.

Upon stepping outside, Frigga glanced skyward. Night had fallen. She would guess the time to be nearing three in the morning, well past the hour when her sons should be in bed sleeping and dreaming pleasant things conjured by such young and vivid imaginations, but her mind was already racing ahead. Baths and a light meal would be required before tucking them into the safety of their beds else they would wake again in a few short hours complaining of supreme hunger. Asgardian metabolism being what it was, the bodies of her growing brood required constant nourishment. It was nothing for them to eat every two or three hours with small snacks doled out between each meal.

By the time the carriage Iound had brought rolled to a gentle stop outside the private royal entrance, both boys had been lulled to sleep by the rhythmic rocking and gentle clip-clop of hooves against the Rainbow Bridge. She loathed the idea of waking them. Let them sleep while their minds had calmed enough to allow it, but the young princes couldn't sleep in a carriage even if it was parked beneath an upper balcony should rain come.

Regardless of how gentle Iound and she attempted to be, Loki and then Thor were both roused while being carried inside and into a lift that would deliver them outside the royal apartment. Loki's smile was soft and sleepy. Thor rubbed his fists against his eyes, offered a huge yawn, and promptly flicked his younger sibling's ear, because ignoring the temptation to irritate his brother was just completely impossible.

"What was that for?" wailed Loki when he rubbed his abused ear.

"I'm sorry, Brother, I thought there was a bug crawling into your ear."

"Bug my as…"

"Loki," Frigga said sharply, appalled by her middle son's display of language. Where in the nine realms would he even learn a word like that?

"Sorry, Mother," he said, quick to apologize and duck his head in embarrassment. He proceeded to thrust his tongue out at Thor.

"Mama, why is Loki such a baby? Real men don't stick their tongues out after they've had their ear flicked. Real men…"

"We get it!" shouted Loki while twisting his fingers to bend the magical fabric to his will. When he next spoke, he sounded just like Thor. "Real men flick back when they've had their ears flicked. Real men fight their battles with the point of their swords. Real men talk with their mouths full of food. Real men don't hug their mothers when they've busted their knees." His voice returned to his own. "These incessant attempts at displaying your so-called manliness are…" Twisting his fingers, he imitated Thor's voice again to say, "_boooooooring_!"

Thor blinked in a rather owlish manner at having the tone of his voice and certain choice phrases so perfectly imitated by the middle Odinson. He blinked and blinked again as though incapable of determining an appropriate response. Finally, his eyes widened, and he exclaimed, "That was amazing! Do Papa."

"Boys, we've all had a long and trying day," Iound intoned gently. "Your mother may start twitching if you don't make attempts at behaving yourselves, and we all know what happens when your mother reaches the point where she's twitching."

Frigga suddenly and inexplicably burst into hysterical laughter. Between her boys' incessant fascination with each other and Iound making her recall the one incident where she'd completely lost control of her own emotions-she'd ended up sitting in the middle of the floor covered in ice cream and squalling like one of her children-she simply couldn't remain dignified. Her sides ached, her face hurt, her head was pounding, but tears were gathering in her eyes from laughing so hard when she stumbled into the royal apartment to settle Loki on his feet in the entrance foyer. Upon seeing him settled, she stumbled to the dining table and sat down to thunk her head against the oak surface where she shook with laughter.

"Loki," Thor began, "did we break Mama?"

* * *

The following evening after Odin and the soldiers had returned safely from Svartalfheim, Frigga stood in the doorway to the boys' room watching her young sons sleep peacefully. Thankfully, they'd gone about their studies quietly and had spent their free time with Thor bragging to Fandrel, Hogun, and Sif-they were of a similar age to her two oldest boys and attended to their studies with the young princes-about their glorious adventure whilst under the watchful tutelage of Volstagg, their combat instructor. Her head was still pounding from the damage to her cheekbone, but she smiled softly when Balder rolled onto his side and tucked his fingers under his cheek in a reflexive action left over from infanthood. Thor was sucking on his thumb, a habit he only engaged in while sleeping and would no doubt grow out of soon. Loki was squeezing a stuffed likeness of his father she'd been forced to commission from a toy maker when he'd gone through a period of separation anxiety as a toddler.

Her boys.

Pride swelled in her bosom while watching over them, and she reached up to clasp the hand Odin settled on her shoulder when he strolled up behind her.

"How are you feeling, my queen?" he inquired in his softest voice.

"My injuries will fully heal in the next day or so," she responded, "but the terror _your _sons put me through yesterday won't soon be forgotten. Only time will dim the memories and return that sense of security we previously felt where our children are concerned."

"_My _sons?" he inquired as though surprised she disclaimed ownership of the little rascals.

"Didn't you know they're your children when they misbehave so terribly as to send their mother into a nervous breakdown and my children when they're well-mannered?"

"Is that how it works?"

"Naturally, because I am the very definition of gentility and grace."

Odin chuckled, hand rubbing over her back in soothing motions. "In the interest of fully realizing the trials you go through wrangling our young sons, I suppose it only fair I spend the day with them whilst you engage in whatever pursuits you find relaxing."

"You're offering to take the boys for a day to give me a break?" Her husband must indeed be feeling guilty for the events of yesterday. Odin wasn't a neglectful father, but he was often too busy with affairs of state to spend an entire day with his sons.

"In the interest of fairness."

"Oh, of course." There was a knowing little smile fixed firmly to her lips. Purely in the interest of fairness. It wasn't as though the All-Father regretted having missed so much of their childhood whilst wrangling the nine realms into peaceful coexistence. She knew better.

Turning, Frigga wound an arm around his waist. "You have no clue what you're in for."

"They're children. How difficult can it be?"

"I'll remind you what words you just spoke when I return from my afternoon's outing."

"You belong here, Woman," he said while clasping her hand against his heart.

She smiled and leaned up to kiss her husband, willing to forgive him anything when he gazed upon her with such open affection, a side of the All-Father few people were entitled to see.


	8. Epilogue

Epilogue

Arms laden with packages from her shopping trip, and feeling much rejuvenated for having spent most of the day without the boys clinging to her skirt, she approached the door to the royal apartment, startled when there was a crash from inside followed by Odin's voice raised in either frustration, exasperation, or anger. She couldn't tell which. Thankfully, the door swished open of its own accord, granting her access to her home where she stepped into the common room. Eyes widened.

The crash she'd heard from the hallway? That would have been the sound of the dining table being tipped over, supper dishes scattered all over the flagstones and food smeared across the floor and liberally streaking the faces of her three sons. Curtains were hanging askance. A tall floor lamp had been knocked over. Blankets were scattered across the floor. There was a _fire _outside on the balcony. And standing amidst the chaos was a _pink-haired _Odin looking horrified. His helpless glance turned in her direction as though to ask what he was supposed to do to make them listen and start picking up the disaster they'd created in the royal apartment.

"Thor, you're a bully!" Loki wailed.

"I know you are, but what am I?"

"I just said you're a bully!"

"I know you are, but what am I?"

"Get off me," shouted her middle son while shoving at Thor, who was sitting on Loki's head whilst eating a roasted turkey leg.

"Get off me!" Thor repeated as loud as he possibly could.

"Thor's a bilgestipe," Balder sing-songed. "Bilgestipe. Bilgestipe. Cake!"

Horrified that things had gotten so completely out of control that her husband was standing there with pink streaks in his hair from Balder's coloring charcoals, she turned on her heel to exit the royal apartment.

"Frigga, where are you going?" demanded Odin.

"My twenty-four hours aren't officially up yet," she responded.

"You can't leave me here like this, Wife." The real pleading in his tone was what stopped her in her tracks. As much as she might like to let him figure out how to make the boys mind, she simply couldn't abandon her husband in his time of need.

Clearing her throat, Frigga settled her packages on a table in the foyer and planted her hands on her hips, jaw canting slightly to the left as she adopted her sternest expression. When she next spoke, it was with the command of a queen lacing her tone. "Thor, Loki, Balder Odinson, on your feet. Eyes forward. Chests out."

Three rambunctious boys, knowing very well what her tone meant, scrambled to their feet to assume the position.

"How did you do that?" Odin demanded in an awed tone.

"Magic," she responded with a grin.

END


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